A Formidable Day (Well, Weekend)

Posted on August 16, 2016 by evejakubowski

The NE Face of Formidable, JT bottom left for scale

The southeast side of Johannesburg, Cascade Peak, and snowy Eldorado framed by the Triplets and Mixup Peak

The title is an understatement, but I had to get the peak in there somehow. This came to fruition on a Thursday night, when I had three realizations. 1) JT was back for just the weekend, 2) we had a 24ish hour weather window on Saturday 3) I was going crazy after not really doing anything for the entirety of July and JT felt similar. Oh, and I have this ridiculous list of peaks I wanted to bag that would likely be absolute sufferfests, and that’s what I usually pitch to Sam and JT. Unfortunately, Sam’s getting tan surfing and relaxing and not suffering (besides the FOMO I imagine this will give him) on the east coast, so JT and I decided to be a two man team and see just how thrashed we could get.

Mt. Formidable has a taunting (or daunting – little column A, little column B I think) face with an 5.6 line up the NE side, which you stare at as you hike the Ptamigan Traverse. Usually you look at peaks and think “shit ,that face is ridiculous, the route must be on the other side.” Well yeah, the standard route is on the other side, but we were eyeing this route. Could it be done in a day? No on had done it in a day before (spoiler alert: we also did not do it in a day). But we figured we’d give it a shot with an alpine start Saturday morning and a deep understanding and resignation that we might be in for a shiver bivvy that night. Bivvied 8/7/2016, gotta start listing dates since I’m so freaking behind in blog posts. I even skipped one to write this one! Jeez.

Distance: 24 miles? Honestly not sure
Elevation: Also not sure. Net ~5000ft gain (8325ft highest point) but you gain 3400ft to Cache Col, lose 800ft to Kool Aid Lake, gain another 1200ft to Spider/Formidable Col, drop 600ft again to heather ledges, and finally gain the last 1300ft to the summit. Sneaky elevation.
Weather: 40’s and foggy, 60’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 3 hours. Cascade River Road takes forever. At least JT doesn’t drive like a granny (I do).
Did I Trip: You know what? Not really. No faceplants. I did slide 15ft down some scree at 4am when we were off route though, that was a rough start.

Awkward icy sidehilling without crampons

I dragged myself out of my parking lot bivvy at 2am, admired the stars above Johannesburg and Cascade Peak and the Triplets, gave JT my extra socks (he had only brought cotton, and cotton is rotten) and we started up the Cascade Pass trail. Summitpost describes the trail as “stupidly inclined,” which is appropriate. You don’t even know you’re going up. What that means is… switchbacks! 36 of them, to be exact. Woo! But nighttime is a time warp, so suddenly the switchbacks were over and we were at the pass! Fog rolled in almost immediately and I started to get discouraged. We followed our GPS track up another 1,000ft or so, and then started to traverse the scree and snowfields over to what we thought was Cache Col.

Forbidden, Sahale, and Buckner with clouds spilling over Cascade Pass

Well, we had two realizations as the fog cleared and the sun rose. 1) we were several hundred feet above the standard route, which has a nice pleasant bootpath. When you hit Cascade Pass, go right, and near the toilet sign, go left. That’ll take you on a rising traverse to the col, instead of the mediocre sidehilling we got to enjoy. 2) Snowfields are icy at 4am. 3) Scree sucks. We struggled through it, wasting maybe an hour crossing frozen snow while the two runners below us probably laughed (or worried, depending on how nice they were and how clumsy we looked).

The real Cache Col. Suckers!

We eventually made it to the gap, only to look ahead at what was actually Cache Col, across a glacier hidden by the terrain. Good start. The glacier is quite mellow though, and we were able to make quick work of it after losing a few hundred feet of elevation and regaining even more. Behind us were clouds spilling over Cascade Pass, with occasional peeks of Eldorado, Boston, and Sahale. From Cache Col you get your first glimpse looking south at Formidable (yes!) and it’s a line of sight path to Kool Aid Lake. Which requires you to drop another 700ft, and drops you onto endless fields of unpleasant talus. RIP my ankles.

Formidable over Kool Aid Lake

At Kool Aid Lake we saw the only other group we’d see for the rest of the trip. Well kind of, we saw their tents but they were asleep. Ah, to sleep in on a climb. What a dream. We kept moving, eager to get to Red Ledges since it would mark our turn off to drop onto the Formidable Glacier. Plus, Kool Aid Lake had been unimpressive. We crossed heather benches, more talus fields, more snow patches. The red ledges are very obvious, a scar of red rock cutting through the cliffs. It looks ridiculous from afar, but as you get closer, there’s basically a trail along them. We dropped down into a moat, pulled off some nifty third class scramble moves to get to the ledge, and scampered over to the other side where the trail continued.

Red Ledges

Carrying on to Spider/Formidable col (obvious notch)

About a quarter mile past the ledges, you can drop down onto the glacier. But JT and I weren’t very fortunate here. We couldn’t see a decent line up to the glacier. The previous reports all had far more snow coverage than we did, we’d be dealing with nearly a thousand feet of steep scree with terrible runout and a serac waiting to collapse above us. As if on cue, a huge chunk of ice fell from the glacier and started a domino effect of tumbling ice. Yeah, maybe we should pass. Slow start, late in the morning, it’d only get warmer as the day went. Would my mother yell at me for trying this? Yes (that almost always applies though). Would WH&C shit all over the article about my death because I should have known better? Probably yes. Would mother nature flip me off and deny me from mountain heaven post mortem because I was an idiot who didn’t earn it? Maybe. Okay, standard route anyone? (You’re welcome, mom).

JT laughs as I hang stuck by my pack in a moat between snow and a rock

We hung out for a few more minutes scouting out potential lines for a return trip. Many of these remote peaks have fairly simple lines waiting to be climbed, it’s just that no one ever goes out there to do them. My feet were already killing me, covered in raw wet hot spots. JT had brought his cotton socks, so I made him give me back my Darn Toughs and he donned his cotton socks. Sorry JT. We eventually got moving again, and met the side of the Middle Cascade Glacier. The bottom half of this glacier is an awesome ice fall, but the upper half is pretty mellow. We did some painful sidehilling to avoid crevasses, I bitched about my boots killing my ankles, and soon enough we gained the Spider-Formidable Col. From here we could see that our route to the glacier on the NE face wasn’t as steep as we thought, and might have been doable. Dammit. But we were committed to the standard route at this point, since we had spend an hour or two getting up to the Spider-Formidable Col and backtracking would likely take just as long.

First views of Le Conte Lake and Gunsight, Old Guard and Sentinel Peaks

The col on the right has two small bivvy spots, the narrow col on the left is where you’ll want to drop down to the next section of the Ptarmigan Traverse. I lost my breath at the top col seeing the view on the other side – Old Guard and Sentinel are one huge glaciated massif with glacial turquoise Le Conte Lake below them, with Gunsight (an obsession of mine, the twin spired peak behind Old Guard). Spectacular, especially against the red rock we were standing on. I have one complaint. Le Conte Glacier is on Old Guard Peak. It drains into Le Conte Lake. That makes sense. But Le Conte Peak is to the west. Why isn’t the Le Conte Glacier on Le Conte Peak?!

Checking out the bivvy col

We dropped down quickly to the snowfield below, and headed along the Ptarmigan Traverse path to the fourth notch in our journey. The Traverse continues to Yang Yang Lakes which you can see from the S/F col, but we veered off right to the notch that would drop us onto the final face of Formidable. So many cols. This snow traverse was nice and easy, and we gained the notch I later named Heather Ledges. This is because you have two options to drop down onto the final traverse. A “nefarious gully,” which gets its namesake from the absurd amount of scree that managed to conglomerate on this third class scramble, or some heather ledges, which are steep but pleasant enough in crampons, which we were too lazy to drop off. The ledges do eventually dump you into the nefarious gully, which we battled down to another snow field.

Looking across to our notch on the ridge, Yang Yang lakes center left, Le Conte back left

Atop Heather Ledges looking at the final section of the climb. Gain the grassy rib on the left, head up and left from there.

After the nefarious gully you have a few more snowfields to cross, more talus, fantastic views of a jagged ridge that amazingly has no name, and Buckindy in the background. And of course, Dome and Old Guard still loom over the far horizon as you gain a grassy rib and scramble up to the base of the gully that leads you to the summit.

Quick break to soak in views

Except it’s never that simple. We missed the nice grassy rib, and ended up in a low fifth class gully. Luckily we had lugged a 60m rope and a light alpine rack thinking we were doing the NE face, so what the hell, let’s put it to use. One pitch of easy climbing later (ignoring the hollow flakes that broke off as we climbed) and we were up by the gullys, which were supposedly marked by cairns. There are two routes up, one that follows a series of ledges with an airy traverse and one that follows a loose fourth to fifth class gully. We were aiming for the ledges.

Part of the airy traverse

We managed to find the airy traverse, which was quite airy, and marked by a single cairn at the end. From there, it was a choose your own adventure, supposedly to the top of another gully marked with a cairn which is where the ledges route meets the gully route.

Just kidding! No cairns for you, not out here. Just that one at the end of the airy ledge. Choose your own adventure. We started working our way up through the path of least resistance. A few wrong turns, a few backtracks, a few definitely-not-third-class-moves. We almost ended up on the wrong summit, but I noticed that the one to the right looked taller and made JT backtrack. He was just ready to get the false summit but hell no, I wasn’t letting that happen. “I’ll carry the rope! I’ll carry the rack! I’ll carry your bivvy!” “Joke’s on you, I didn’t bring a bivvy!” Dammit JT! So you’re just gonna huddle in your clothes and shiver for a few hours? We had come this far, we were committed to bivvying. Yep, guess that’s the answer. We downclimbed to a nice gully with what’s that? A cairn? Two cairns?!? Yes!! On track!

Summit shot!

Cloud deck to the west on the way down

I quickly moved up the gully until boom, summit. The views were stunning. Cloud cover below us to the west, sunshine up above, Old Guard (yeah I’m not over it) and Sentinel in the distance. And some other peaks, like Boston and Sahale but I’m obsessed. And a brilliant turquoise lake beneath the jagged, no name ridge. Eve Ridge. We could see the trail of the Ptarmigan Traverse below us, and had a brief “shit, we’re far away” moment. Oh well. Like JT said, “those are problems for tired JT.” Deal with it later. Heather Ledges looked pretty steep and shitty from where we were too. Well, tired Eve problems. No point in worrying now. We took a quick break, snapped photos, and headed down immediately. We wanted to at least be back at Heather Ledges by dark.

Time to head down

We made it down the gully quickly, and back across the airy ledges. We rapped down our low 5th class gully rather than trying to find the standard route, which was a great plan, and we were making great time, until… the rope got stuck as we pulled it down. Fuck. I looked out across the valley. I snapped a picture of sunset. Similar to Cutthroat peak, I had a simultaneous “wow, pretty” and “oh, shit” moment. JT climbed back up to free it and luckily we got it loose. At this point, the sun was down. We had maybe an hour of dusk before it would be dark, so we started walking.

Dome Peak teasing me

JT and Glacier

We got back to the base of the even-more-nefarious-in-the-dark gully, and scrambled up to the ledges. I destroyed so much heather this weekend. My headlamp was dying, despite having new batteries. Bulb issue? Shut up Calvin, if you’re reading this I don’t want to hear it. At the top of Heather Ledges we took a break and contemplated bivvying there. “We could just…..keep going” “bivvy here!” we said simultaneously. Shit. Suck it up, we’re gonna keep moving. At this point my feet were lovely swollen painful pruny shredded stubs. I missed my hiking poles. I’d have been limping if it was one foot, but it was both, so I just hobbled. And I couldn’t turn my ankles, since the boots had left huge gashes on my ankle bones. They’d just buckle any time I put pressure on the sides. So that was great. But we weren’t camping at Heather Ledges. We needed to at least get back to the col.

No Name Ridge (Eve Ridge!) in the foreground above that turquoise lake, Buckindy back left

We agreed on the suffer stretch and started off. It was an eternity. Pitch black, thousands of stars, tiny sliver of a moon, entire Milky Way scattered above us. I was exhausted. JT laughed in front of me. “My mind’s playing tricks already.” Eyesight gets funky when you’re exhausted. “I thought that stick was a boa constrictor!” Great, it hasn’t started for me yet but I was sure I wasn’t far behind. For me it’s rocks that look like tents, dead trees that look like zombie creatures, wind that sounds like voices next to the trail. Luckily we were above treeline so no creepy shit. We took breaks every 20 minutes or so, maybe more often and just every stretch felt so long. At one point I flopped down on my pack. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m thoroughly enjoying this.” I cracked up. That’s JT. You push it all day just to savor the point of exhaustion when you’re lying on a glacier dozens of miles from civilization looking at the entire galaxy wondering how you ended up here and why you think it’s fun.

Another break on the way back to Heather Ledges

The struggle back up to the col was tough, but singular. Even though you’re tired, it’s kicking steps in steep snow, and you sure as hell don’t want to slip. It was warm enough that it was soft which made kicking steps easy. It was Andrea who pointed it out on Cutthroat Peak a few weeks ago. Climbing is so singular. You need to focus and you need to focus on this one thing and nothing else and that’s how the short climb to the col was. Just me, and a snow slope, and my tool and my boots and the stars and the shine of JT’s headlamp above me.

“Oh how pretty!” “Oh, shit.”

Our bivvy spot was phenomenal. I felt like a princess with my bivvy and sleeping bag liner. I put in my headphones (11th essential: ipod shuffle) and dozed on and off, snuggling my pack for warmth and using the rope as a ground cover with visions of Excel spreadsheets and emails in front of my eyes. My feet and socks were still wet, I debated between warm wet wool and cold dry feet. Ugh. Everything kind of sucked, but you know you’ll be fine so you just wait it out. I only know I slept because I have vague memories of spreadsheets, which means I dreamed about work. I dreamed about work, sleeping at 7,000ft in a bivvy in the most beautiful section of Washington. I obviously wasn’t uncomfortable enough.

Waking up at our bivvy spot, Yang Yang Lakes and Heather Ledges covered in fog

Alarms went off at 5am. JT was ready to go. Absolutely not, I said. I was finally warm ish and I knew I could get back to sleep and I was going to savor my hour. Sunrise was gorgeous, clouds were spilling over the notches into the basins around us, and we were on top of it all. I dozed for another hour or so until the sun hit us, and finally got moving. We were above the clouds, and descended into whiteout.

I was relieved we had made it to the col. Waking up at Heather Meadows in the fog would have been demoralizing, cold, wet, brutal. Instead we woke up dry and above the clouds, enough for me to mentally rally. I stuffed my feet back in my boots. Ouch. JT didn’t even take off his boots because he was worried his feet were too swollen to get them back on. Why do we do this? JT had peach rings for breakfast and I had Whole Foods chocolate truffles and a fresh baked Whole Foods peanut butter cookie and a few bites of a Sledgehammer sandwich which was also from Whole Foods. JT had the breakfast of champions. All I needed was a girly Starbucks drink to complete my Basic Bitch Breakfast.

View from the bivvy spot the previous day

We roped up and started across the glacier. Up and over the crevasses this time, no sidehilling, give my poor ankles a break. Glaciers are annoying to navigate in fog, but we got a few glimpses since we were at the top of the clouds. We met the rocks, and we went back across the endless talus fields, back across red ledges, more talus fields, finally to Kool Aid Lake. We got off track many times between the lake and Cache Col. Endless talus fields in fog all look the same. At Cache Col we vaguely knew the route back to the notch that would drop us onto the slopes above Cascade Pass.

We were too high at first, sticking to the cliffs along the side for easy navigation. But the route itself was a few hundred feet lower. There were minimal crevasses for us to use as landmarks. There were only two places where we could gain the notch, and the rest would cliff out.

JT on the Cache Glacier. Phenomenal views. Bet you’re glad you can see the full version of the pic so you can see all the details.

We took out the GPS. We looked up photos we had taken on the way up. We only had a few dozen feet of visibility, so we tried to match waterfalls, red streaks in rock, interesting shaped patches of snow stuck in the rocks, just to figure out where we were. I tend to get analysis paralysis when there are too many options, where I take forever to make a decision and second guess everything. We tried to just keep making decisions as efficiently as possible. It started to rain. I put on my Goretex layer. “I really want to be off this glacier by dark,” JT said. Shit, has the bar dropped that low? Knowing you have a bivvy in moderate weather is great. Surprise night #2 bivvy in rain and fog… that would suck. Finally I went out on a limb and crossed to a new patch of snow, where we found what looked like very old footprints. They led me to a few nice steps of heather ledges, which dropped me off at one of the two notches. Not the one we had come up, but one that would go nonetheless. We dropped down to the talus and snowfields, and the fog blew through for a hot minute. Cascade Pass! So close yet so far.

Quick reminder of why we do this. Gunsight and Old Guard anyone??

We continued down below the snowfields to try and follow the bootpath that we had seen the two runners take the previous morning. It still wasn’t pleasant, but it was a hell of a lot easier than steep sidehilling on snow, especially with my bloody bruised ankles. Shitty. We saw the huge rocks and hikers below at the pass, so far beneath us. Getting back to the pass was amazing. I was drenched from fighting through wet rainy shrubs with clumps of goat hair stuck to my legs. Luckily, the hikers had left the pass, so no one was there to laugh at how ridiculous I looked as I limped like a 90 year old down the trail. Great, all we have left is 4 miles and 36 switchbacks.

Halfway!

The trail down was exactly what you’d expect. Tedious, endless, tiring. Stupidly inclined. I joked with JT that we should count all the switchbacks. Except I was totally serious. I needed something to focus on. JT got ahead of me. At one point someone started writing the number of the switchback at each corner. I thought it was JT and I was thrilled when I saw the first one. It gave me something to look forward to. Switchback #14, that’s 7/18ths of the way there, which is 38.9% of the way there, and switchback 15 is next. Switchback 15, that shares the common denominators 3 and 5 and no wait just 3 with the total 36 so 15/36 can be reduced to 5/12 which is 42% of the way there. And 18 will be halfway and then you can check the GPS and see how much mileage you have left! Woohoo, a treat!

Yeah, I was tired. At the second to last switchback you get a great view of the parking lot. Why didn’t anyone put fucking stairs there?! I was pissed. Seriously just make it like Paradise and put in some steps it isn’t that hard. I yelled whoop WHOOOP to JT who didn’t hear me and then speed hobbled the rest of the way to the car where I stepped out of the woods laughing at what we had just done and how shattered I was. Without good reason! The terrain was annoying but nothing too difficult, just lots of ups and down and long days and mental strain getting back through whiteout. I think it was just the wet feet that had screwed me over, which was an issue only a few miles in so I had no escape.

Yay!! I swear I felt more triumphant than I look. I was disappointed by my summit cookie.

I had left three bites of a sandwich in the car and it was amazing. My feet were almost too swollen for my flip flops. I was glad JT drove because my granny driving would not have made it down Cascade River Road. We went back to Calvin’s where he and Quinn and Haley were enjoying his hot tub. 1) I was far too offensively disgusting for a hot tub 2) A hot tub probably would have been brutally painful on my stubby torn feet. But it was a nice thought. Rain check?

Mt. Shuksan via the Sulphide Glacier

Posted on July 31, 2016 by evejakubowski

Baker and part of the ridge above the clouds

The forecast called for Mostly Sunny. Every forecast showed sunshine. You know how that goes, usually it turns out to be mostly sunny. Psych! Not this trip. A last minute plan for Shuksan as a day trip came to fruition when I realized it was Angie’s last weekend in the PNW and we had to do something. We had not yet gone on a glaciated climb since she always had to be back in Seattle by a reasonable hour on Sundays to drive back to Ashford. We had always been limited to shorter trips. Here was our chance, and with Haley and Angie I knew we’d have a kick ass girls team. And with a forecast of mostly sunny, what could go wrong? I was in the mood for some incredible sweeping views of the North Cascades. Anyone who knows me knows how I feel about Shuksan. Sulphide is huge bang for your buck, Fisher Chimneys is the most enjoyable route I’ve climbed up anything out here (small sample size, to be fair), Price Glacier and North Face will hopefully happen sometime in the next year. So many routes, such great views, very alpine feel. But Shuksan’s a tease, and doesn’t return my unrequited love. Just strings me along with false promises and narrow weather windows and glimpses of mind blowing views.

Distance: 14.4 miles round trip
Elevation: 6500ft gain (9127ft highest point)
Weather: Foggy and 40’s, sunny and 60’s
Commute from Seattle: 2:30 without traffic
Did I Trip: A majestic, foot-caught-on-branch-land-face-down-in-mud-and-skid-a-few-feet beauty. So you could say yes.

A well camouflaged toad on the trail

We camped at the trailhead, where Angie and Haley ended up sleeping in my car while I bivvied on the ground. Three people in the car is a lot of people, and I could not be bothered to share. “Does not play well with others,” I snarkily announced as my head hit the pillow I had made from rolled-up extra sleeping bag. At one point it started drizzling and I laughed and rolled my eyes. The proud owner of the car had been relegated to the gravel parking lot, while the plebs slept inside it. Luckily the rain didn’t last, and my bivvy was wonderfully cozy.

Foxglove!

I woke up to my alarm at 3am. Usually I’m up before it, but I was completely unconscious. The best night (okay, the best two hours) of sleep I’ve ever had. But I dragged myself out of my bivvy and packed. No stars in the sky, just thick fog everywhere. Whatever, mostly sunny forecast, it’ll burn off when the sun rises. I was excited to see how my camelback bladder did in my pack. I always just carried water bottles, but I was experimenting. I reached for the bladder I had filled up at home and – wait a sec, where the fuck is the water? The bag was empty. My trunk was dry. The bag was dry. I definitely filled it up, Angie had watched me. It was a total mystery. Ghost water. I though of Kacie, who I teased relentlessly when she forgot her water on Baring. Now I understand. She had the ghost water. Well, I refilled it with the water I had in my trunk and we started out.

The bright green crampons look great with my blue & pink runners

I was wearing my brand new trail runners, finally getting the update to my trusty old Saucony Peregrines, which (I am almost ashamed to admit) are nearly 3 years old with well over a thousand miles on them through the Cascades, through Wisconsin, through Montana, through Moab, and I’m sure some extra epic trails I’m forgetting. There were toads everywhere, and huge flowers (foxglove?) and salmonberries!! So many salmonberries. But we figured we’d get them on the way down. We hit the ridge and broke out of the trees. Baker was completely obscured, but clouds seemed to be clearing up since there were patches of blue sky. Snow started at the notch (around 5200ft), and Angie and Haley switched to boots. I went to take a drink from my water hose for the first time and – wait, where the fuck is the water?? AGAIN?! It had disappeared. My pack wasn’t wet. My back wasn’t wet. If it had all leaked out of the hose (which was resting against my leg) my side would be soaked. This shit made no sense. Sneaky ass ghost water, dehydrating unsuspecting climbers all across America.

We came up upon the first campsite we had seen all morning, which we thought was IMG. Angie works for IMG, and we were going to say hi until we realized duh, everyone’s asleep, it’s 6:30am. We carried on our merry way, and stopped to refill water (or in my case, see if I could fight the magical disappearing qualities of my bladder). I made Angie and Haley top theirs off too since there was a chance I’d need some if my bladder kept emptying its damn ghost water.

“Mostly Sunny” my ass

We found low camp next, which housed a Mountain Madness team and I believe a group with the Mountaineers. Again, we didn’t chat much, as everyone was asleep besides two people having coffee. And we had work to do. I took a sip of my water. Which was still there.

At this point, visibility was around 30ft, and with a mellow, mostly featureless glacier (very few open crevasses), navigation is like 30% difficult and 70% boring. We aimed for high camp, only to find… nothing. There’s a toilet up there somewhere, but we didn’t exactly miss out on the views from that lovely throne with all of the fog. Remind me to mark a waypoint there next time. We roped up and stayed left near the ridge since that was the route we were familiar with from last year, and ridges make for easy navigation. It meant a few unnecessary steep slopes, but they were short. Kicking steps in trail runners turned out to be difficult, but I was anchoring the rope, so I had Angie and Haley both kicking steps in front of me. Staircases, woohoo!

Holy shit! Mostly sunny!

Soon enough we were on a ridge that I remembered from Labor Day weekend last year, when we had to descend Sulphide in similar conditions. We took a quick break there for snacks, and as we stood up, the clouds started to clear. I couldn’t form words. “GO! GO go KEEP GOING” I was waving my arms until Haley and Angie turned around and realized what was happening. We caught glimpses of the summit pyramid and Baker, and as we got higher and higher it got clearer and clearer until we were officially above the clouds surrounded by sunshine and blue skies. Blue skies are nice. Partly cloudy is better. Above the clouds is second best. And best, is being above the cotton candy clouds, but below those high, wispy cirrus clouds. Well after all that fog, I’ll settle for second best. Now if only a few other peaks would poke up above the sea of clouds.

Baker and part of the ridge above the clouds

Clouds playing along the arm

We were quick getting to the summit pyramid, despite my fifteen micro stops. “Guys wait I need sunscreen.” “Guys wait can I borrow someone’s chapstick with SPF?” “Guys wait my shoe is untied.” “Guys hold up a sec I need to delayer.” “GUYSIDROPPEDMYGLOVESSORRYWAIT” “Hahaha… guys… sorry but one more stop I dropped a coil.” I’m usually more organized, I swear. At least I still had my water, which was a record for the day. It hadn’t disappeared yet.

Angie coming up the scramble

We unroped at the patch of rocks at the base of the scramble. We kept crampons and ice axes for the next 50 or so vertical feet until we were officially on rock only, and stashed them at the base of the central gully. We followed the gully fairly well (a few hesitations, a few sketchy off route moves while scouting) until the top, where we went too far to the right. A big part of scrambling and rock climbing in general is trusting your feet, and I did not trust my feet in those trail runners. Which isn’t the shoes’ fault, I just had to get used to them. I mean shit I watched my friend climb a pillar at Ruby Beach in flip flops. You can’t always blame footwear, sometimes it’s just in your head.

Angie on the ridge

Anyway, we ended up on the SE ridge for the last maybe 50 vertical feet, but at that point there are no technical moves left (the rest of the ridge is 5.6ish). One slabby move sketched me out until Angie pointed out that it’s way easier than downclimbing, and she was totally right. As soon as I realized my shoes would in fact stick to the rock it was quick moving, and before I knew it, we were standing on the summit.

Summit quilt!

We snapped pictures, destroyed Haley’s like 5lbs of M&Ms (she did most of the work), I took 50 pictures of my trail runners (should have left the crampons on) and eventually we started down as the clouds were rising. Downclimbing the gully was a painstaking affair. We took a slightly different route down, which was easier than our route up but downclimbing 4th class is a bitch. Summitpost claims it’s 3rd class, I don’t think that’s true. Unless we missed a blatant gully that would have been way easier.

Haley on the downclimb

I can see why everyone prefers to rappel. Step by step, we inched down. The cap came off my sunscreen, spattering the rocks with lotion. I tried to carry it down balancing it in my hand but eventually had to give up, my hands were too necessary on some of those moves. I basically needed handholds any time I had to face inward to downclimb, which again is really more mental than anything. Those trail runners did fine. Sure it was tough edging on footholds whereas the Nepal Evos can edge on anything, but they still stuck to all of the slabby moves, and I didn’t actually lose footing once (which could have been because I was being ultra conservative with every single move).

We grabbed our axes and crampons, roped up, and descended back into the clouds. So much for “mostly sunny.” We saw another party coming up just below the summit pyramid. I yelled to Haley and Angie, “Don’t trip now!” We pass the group, say our hellos and good lucks, and Haley immediately wiped out. Day = made.

Back at low camp we unroped, didn’t recognize anyone, and carried on to what we assumed was the IMG camp (the Eureka tents are kind of a giveaway). Angie said hi to her coworker, we told everyone it was sunny and glorious above 7200ft, and made our way back to the notch.

Back into the fog

We took a more extended break along the ridge, and pounded downhill where we each had a muddy wipeout (or in my case, two). We devoured salmonberries left and right, leaving none for the parties behind us or the parties coming up or the local bear population. Suckers. I always thought the yellow salmonberries were unripe, but it turns out they’re just a different species! They’re edible too, and taste even better than the red ones.

We were back at the car by 6pm, where my feet were thrilled to be relieved of trail runner duty and assigned to flip flops. I forgot that glacier travel means snow, which will make your feet cold and wet, and that means blisters and pruning and general discomfort (and stink). Yuck. And the crampons had rubbed my ankles raw, which was less than pleasing. Though interestingly, the aches and pains and blisters and wounds on my ankles and feet were no different from what mountaineering boots give them. So maybe my feet are the problem, not the footwear. And my water was still in my pack. No more ghosts.

Baker again

We piled back into the car. Angie fell asleep right away, snoring like a train. I was jealous, but not too tired just yet. Too busy daydreaming about mac n cheese and the chicken bacon ranch sandwich I had in the car. Delicious. We dropped Haley off, and Angie and I headed back to Seattle, where she somehow dragged herself off the couch at 3am AGAIN to get back to Ashford. I did not leave my bed. But in case you’re curious, yes, the water in my camelback had disappeared again when I woke up. 2L of water in plastic doesn’t just evaporate. Bastards, those H2O molecules.

Fresh new kicks. Should have left the crampons on for the picture.

Mt. Olympus

Posted on July 17, 2016 by evejakubowski

View from the summit

Any DFW fans out there? A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again? Yeah, this trip might get that label. Was it good? Yeah, hell yeah I mean it was great. But I am way to lazy to do this again any time in the near future. We’ll get to that. Regardless, this trip almost didn’t happen for me. I was going to bail the night before since I had a visitor in town staying at my apartment, but being a moderately selfish person and realizing that I was either a) bailing on visitor (lose) or b) bailing on friends with a specifically organized climbing trip (lose) I should just go with whatever I personally wanted (win). And I wanted to climb Olympus. Well, sorta.

Distance: Simon’s Suunto claims like 52 miles, but I don’t think it was actually that long.

Elevation: 7400ft gain (7,979ft highest point, and also all of that elevation gain is in the last few miles so get pumped)

Commute from Seattle: 5 Effing Hours so carpool and bring great music and snacks

Weather: Foggy and 50’s, sunny and 60’s

Did I Trip: Yeah, and I ended up in a river. Stop laughing.

So much green

There had been several (okay, two) obstacles preventing me from climbing Olympus sooner, or from even really wanting to do Olympus. The drive (5 hours without traffic… add traffic to that and I might have literally died had I driven alone), and the approach (18 mother fucking miles of flat ass well maintained low valley forest trail, which to some is a dream, but to me, is a nightmare). I always assumed I’d do it as a one day trail run when I wa in decent shape. But somehow, my damn friends convinced me it would be fun, and I did have to check it off the list. Apex peak, whatever. We drove out Saturday morning, naturally taking longer than expected. We planned on leaving around 4:30 or 5am, but actually got out around 6. We stopped at Ruby Beach on the way there. you pass Beach 2, Beach 3, Beach 4… what comes next? Beach 5? Nope, Ruby Beach! Seeing the ocean actually almost took my breath away, mostly because I had no idea the drive to Olympus would take us right next to the coast. I miss the ocean constantly, maybe more than I miss toilets when I’m on a glacier.

I started a possibly illegal parking area, ran into the water, got destroyed by a surprise wave, hopped around some logs, stole a bunch of toilet paper from the bathrooms, and we continued on our merry way, blasting Sublime down the national park roads (should I apologize?). My pants were dry within half an hour despite being heavy duty ice climbing pants. The parking lot at the trailhead was packed and we ended up parking in a one-day camping parking lot, but what can you do. We got started on the trail around 12:30.

Awesome nurse log

The trail is… I mean it’s pretty, but it’s tainted by the fact I’m starting to hate approaches. “It’s all about the journey!!!” Yeah, if the journey is above treeline, on rock or ice. If it’s bushwacky, or straight up or off trail or anything like that, great, I’m into it. But 18 miles along a flat forested trail? I was going to go crazy. I haven’t been that stir crazy since the Snow Lakes approach to the Enchantments, which at least had the excitement of new skis. Tedious, I think, is the word for it. At least it was spectacularly green, with the occasional enormous tree or nurse log for us to marvel at. Luckily we were camping at Elk Lake (revised to Martin Creek because we thought we’d have campfires and Elk Lake doesn’t allow any), so we only had to go 15 miles in. Okay Eve, keep reminding yourself that.

More green

The approach trail is the Hoh River trail, which as I’m sure you can imagine spawned more than enough sophomoric humor to sustain me for the first few miles. “Are you enjoying the Hoh?” “Is the Hoh treating you well?” kept the mood light for the first two or so hours, until passing parties became more sparse and there were no more groups to tolerate us giggling as we dropped one-liners left and right. We took a break at the ranger station 9 miles in (which is pretty cool, that there’s a ranger station 9 miles down a trail) to wait for Sam, who was lagging – maybe because he was carrying a splitboard. And that meant an entire extra pair of boots. Three pairs of boots, in fact. Approach shoes, mountaineering boots, and snowboard boots. Yeah, not jealous.

We got to camp around 7. Connor and I claimed the best tent spot, since Haley had to wait for Simon who was carrying their tent and showed up shortly after us. Sam hobbled into camp with his extra boots and snowboard an hour later, tossed his bivvy on the ground, and was unconscious within minutes. The rest of us whipped up some dehydrated meals, completely ignored the campfire that we had been so excited for, and chatted about the summit bid.

You might as well look as ridiculous as possible if you’re carrying a splitboard through a rain forest

It was Connor’s birthday, and Simon and I had brought up cupcakes and even a candle to celebrate. We snuck off to get the cupcakes, and carried them back to the campsite where Connor managed to be the most oblivious birthday boy in the world (or is really good at pretending not to notice and then feigning surprise). We set up cupcakes and candles basically right in front of him and when I said “should we sing!?” he starts singing “What I Got” by Sublime, which was immediately drowned out by Happy Birthday as he lit up when he saw the cupcakes. I know, we’re fucking adorable. Nothing beats mountain birthdays, even if they’re sitting in a foggy misty jungle after a pounding 15 mile approach that didn’t even get you to the fun part. Unless you’re Sam, who confessed the next day that he thought he dreamed we offered him cupcakes but logically thought “why the fuck would they have cupcakes right now” and continued to sleep. The good part of that is that we had an entire extra cupcake, to be devoured post summit.

Simon’s wardrobe malfunction (“YOU BETTER NOT HAVE GOTTEN A PIC OF THAT”)

We got up around 6am, I bitched about the fog and weather, and we started towards Glacier Meadows at 7. Sam got a head start, knowing he’d be slower with his snowboard. The ladder was a hilarious endeavor as Simon’s pants immediately fell off when he started down, and I have to admit it’s a tricky spot to have to have a serious wardrobe adjustment. I believe he has since returned the pants. Falling off in precarious situations isn’t a 5-star experience. Also, why’d they set up the ladder if you have to go back up the gully once you’re at the bottom? Someone hit that with a shovel and dig out a traverse. I’m never doing that approach again unless it’s for a damn good reason but maybe if you drop me in via helicopter I’ll help out.

The further we went, the clearer the skies got, and by the time we reached the meadows, it was a sunny blue sky day. Holy shit. I’m like never wrong with weather and I was so, so wrong. I was torn. I wanted my “I told you so” moment, but I also wanted sunshine. I’l settle for the latter. We had agreed to meet Sam at the ranger station at the meadows, which turned out to be a platform of wood with a sign saying “Ranger Station.” Great! A platform of wood, with no rangers, no Sam, and no signs of Sam. We thought maybe he’d be by the glacier, so we kept moving. Eventually the trail forks and you can choose lateral glacier or moraine. Choose lateral. Moraine might be fine in winter or early season, but this time of year and onward it’s just a lot of walking across a broken exposed glacier. We headed for the side, hoping to run into Sam.

Crossing the Blue Glacier. Route goes to center frame, then turns right to go up behind the rocks.

We hit the ridge a little too early (“scenic route!”) and scrambled along it to meet the glacier. I was finally in my element, off the damn Hoh River Trail slog and floating along a steep ridge instead. We finally saw Sam ahead of us. We waited for the entire group to reconvene, Connor tossed me the rope, and I dropped down the ridge to get it all flaked out on the glacier. The glacier looked pretty mellow, but we figured hey, good practice, and better safe than sorry. Connor took the lead, I anchored, and everyone else clipped in in the middle. Anchoring means you get the best pictures because you see the whole team in front of you.

On top of Snow Dome

The route goes directly across the Blue Glacier and then turns slightly right to go up a few rocky outcroppings just before a steep snow slope up to Snow Dome. Glaciers are like deserts when it comes to sunshine, and I was baking. No shade, everything reflecting the sun. Like being in a toaster, and you are the toast. “Top Brown” is the dream, but sometimes I end up charred. I had my sweet new nose cover from creme-brulee-ing my face on Rainier the previous weekend, so at least that was under cover, and a new keychain of SPF 50 to be reapplied in motion. We took a lot of breaks which helped fight off the sun. Connor drew out a potential new line up the ice fall, which was awesome. Give me a few years to get up to M7 and I’ll tag along. I’m not tackling any 5.11 rock any time soon.

Wrapping around behind the summits

We reached the top of Snow Dome, where Sam finally bailed on his splitboard. He set it up right there, waiting for the return down. We looked ahead of us at Olympus and saw two routes. One potentially ended in a bergschrund – the Autobahn route, which goes straight from Snow Dome up the face of Olympus right in front of you. The other route wraps around the back of the false summit and then gains the summit scramble. Logic would have told us that the footprints going from the Autobahn to the standard route meant the Autobahn wasn’t doable, but I wasn’t positive until another group confirmed that you definitely had to go around the backside. Great, that’s what we’ll do.

Up to the false summit

The trail from here is fairly mellow until the climb to the false summit. I recall Simon in front of me, “please say that’s the summit!” I was ready to be the dream crusher, but Connor took care of that. “Nope!” You drop down on the other side of the false summit and then ascend another short slope to start the scramble to the true summit. We left our heavy things on the snow saddle, reflaked the rope for rock climbing (I’ll just mention in passing how five people on one rock rope is… ugh) and headed up to the scramble. Connor and I scrambled along a ledge to a belay station before the tougher scramble began. The ledge is like a class 2 scramble, but with a bit of exposure. From there, you get a few class 3 moves with one arguably low 5th class move. We simulclimbed the section to the rap station, where Connor carried on to the summit as I belayed the other three up to the rap rock. We did use a small rock rack to set up pro and make sure everyone was 100% comfortable with everything we were doing, since Sam, Haley, and Simon had never been on anything beyond low class scrambles before. And despite all of the pro, I will never forget the hilarious image of Simon, Haley, and Sam all clinging to the rap rock, cheeks pressed against stone, snuggling the damn thing for their lives. I get it, I remember my first rock climb. I was like a starfish stuck to a rock.

I honestly do not remember how or why someone else got my camera but there’s Connor and I on the summit

After they worked out what sounded like a rope nest spaghetti mess (my fault – I clipped them into the anchor in the order they arrived, should have anchored them in the order they’d be heading to the summit) we belayed them all over to the summit, where I made sure to flake out the rope clearly so we wouldn’t deal with the same mess on the way down. I took the most bad ass picture of Haley that anyone’s ever taken ever. More on that later.

Simon has conquered his first real rock

We signed the summit register, snapped summit pics, ate summit chocolate, and laughed at the trails of footprints of the pour soul who tried to take the Autobahn route. They had looked at every corner of the schrund trying to figure out a way around it, to no avail. Thanks for taking one for the team, buddy, we’ve all been there. Eventually, we decided it was time to head down. Clouds had been moving in slowly all day, it had taken a long ass time to get everyone up the rock, and we knew it’d take a long time to get everyone off the rock as well. Connor led the way to the rap station and we belayed everyone back across there. I went last, and had the luxury of rappelling first. Rather than walk everyone through autoblocks, we settled on a fireman’s belay from below. I set up at the bottom and held the rope while Connor got everyone else set up on rappel, and eventually everyone was back down at the scramble ledge.

Connor jogging ahead

Back on the snow, we grabbed the axes and crampons we had stashed at the top of the slope. Connor tossed his crampons down to his pack, only to watch them fly 10ft and get stuck a third of the way down the slope. Ha! I held on to mine and walked down, literally too lazy to glissade. Upon returning to my pack, I realized I had spilled chocolate all over it. No! Ugh! I dumped it out on the glacier, half melted, looking like rodent poop hundreds of meters above where rodents should be. Sorry guys. I left a trace, I know 😦

We didn’t bother to rope up for the way down, knowing how mellow the glacier was the entire way. We half walked half ran down the slopes, back to Snow Dome where Sam finally got to put his splitboard to use. I took his camera and jogged ahead of him to get photos. There are few things I enjoy more than jogging down snow when it’s soft enough to plunge step, I leapfrogged Connor and Haley glissading between scramble sections laughing like a kid. I snapped a few shots of Sam as he finally passed, and soon enough we were back on the flat section of glacier. We made quick work getting back to the ridge, drank some glacial runoff, and started down the trail back to camp as the sun set.

Connor and Haley and the last light on Olympus

My headlamp was in my pack and you all know how lazy I am. Actually I had two headlamps, because after cutthroat peak I’ll be damned if I ever forget a headlamp ever again. I put it off until it was officially freaking dark – I had been right near two people with headlamps, stopped with Sam and Connor for a second, and as soon as Simon and Haley were a few steps ahead, I realized just how dark it was and caved. Haley and Simon started yelling for a bear at once point. I thought they were just trying to freak me out (I don’t like dark forests or wildlife) but they swore they heard something huge rustling in the bushes. I’m oblivious, and heard nothing. Maybe bears have literally walked across the trail in front of me and I just haven’t been paying attention. That happened with a deer once.

Almost sunset!

We got back to camp where I was thrilled to ditch the mountaineering boots and beyond excited to curl up in my sleeping bag. I freaking love bedtime on climbs. Doesn’t matter what time it is. But I needed dinner (Sweet and Sour Pork! Yes!) and we had been talking about that last cupcake for like six hours. We split it four ways, and it was the best 1/4th of a cupcake I have ever had.

Bedtime was amazing as always. It was a little ridiculous having a zero degree down bag in a four season mountaineering tent set up at 2,000ft in a rainforest but I don’t have any true backpacking gear. We woke up to Simon telling us they were ready to leave (false – it took another hour and a half for them to be ready) and Sam again got a head start. We caught up to him quicker than I expected, but to be fair, I wasn’t carrying a million pounds. Really the only heavy things I was carrying were tent, boots, and glacier gear. Connor had rope and small rock rack, and eventually took half of Sam’s splitboard, which he mounted horizontally on his pack. Horizontally. I get it, you want it to be evenly weighted, but it looks hilarious and I was just waiting for him to clothesline someone.

Sam finally enjoying his snowboard

We only had one mishap on the way out. I was setting the pace and crossing a log jam over a river when I stepped on a not so secure log, which slowly started to sink into the water. Haley stood behind me staring. I couldn’t dive off because I didn’t want my entire pack to end up soaking, I tried to jump to another log but just sunk the log further, and finally I just stood there defeated as I sank to my ass in beautiful refreshing blue river. My camera survived because it’s virtually indestructible. My phone wasn’t as lucky. RIP my bank account and the best pic of Haley anyone’s ever taken.

Group summit selfie!

Well my pants dried within a half hour for the second time that weekend, and we were back at the trailhead in around 6 hours. My feet did not want to see those trail runners again. Did I even remember where we had parked? Um… we’ll just walk in a convenient circle. Haley and I ran to the car as soon as we saw it, flying by the grumpy duo that was Simon and Connor, attempting celebratory cartwheels after we dropped our packs. Would Sam find the car? We figured we’d get all of our shit organized (plus I was 90% sure I had torn a muscle in an attempted cartwheel, that must be what it feels like to be 80 years old) and if he still hadn’t arrived we’d drive over to the visitor center (right near the trail exit) and meet him there. It’s pretty hard to miss my bright yellow xterra.

So lush and healthy

After some celebration chocolate and beer and pirate booty and some extra reveling in the comfort that is flip flops, Sam popped out of the trees. Yay! Everyone was back in one piece, and ready to head back to Simon’s for steaks and drinks and ice cream and fireworks. We stopped at McDonalds on the way (aiming for Carl’s Jr but those are NOWHERE) where I destroyed a big mac, followed by a girly drink pickup at Starbucks, and eventually, a 1lb steak that for the first time in my life I did not finish. I blame the big mac. And you know what? I never have to do Olympus again. Except by now I’ve forgotten the misery of the approach, so maybe I could be convinced. Maybe. I mean, looking back it now those pictures of the forest look pretty nice…

Mt. Rainier via Disappointment Cleaver

Posted on July 7, 2016 by evejakubowski

Descending the Cleaver on trip 2

I requested Monday off from work, which was a bold move on my part (and still nearly regrettable, despite how incredible the weekend was). Big deadlines Friday, many 12 hour days in a row on top of moving to a new apartment (a process I am still wrapping up as I sit here typing instead of unpacking the four bags on the floor in front of me). Kayla had set up an REI team (well, 3 REI employees, I am sadly an ex-employee) and organized a three day trip, and I was in! Kayla’s a total bad ass who was incredibly helpful and encouraging when I started mountaineering last year, so I couldn’t say no. At one point last year I mentioned to her that I was hoping to go up Rainier with a few friends in April but didn’t have any of the gear, and she showed up to REI the next day unprompted with a bag of overmitts, crampons, slings all nicely daisy-chained, a harness, everything I was missing. That’s the type of person you want to be friends with.

Distance: I am honestly not sure. Maybe 18 round trip? 4 to muir, 5 to summit?
Elevation: ~9000ft from Paradise to summit
Commute from Seattle: 2:30
Weather: 70’s and sunny in the day, maybe 20’s at the summit? Not too bad!
Did I Trip: Maybe running to see Kacie. I never legitimately ate it though I don’t think.

JT skinning up

I had a fitful night of sleep in my car in the parking lot listening to other groups of climbers getting started in the early morning, though a few groups bailed due to visibility. I woke up to fog that I knew we’d get above, and met Kayla, Charli, Rick, JT, and Sam all at the ranger station at 7am. We lined up to get camping permits and climbers’ permits, only to be told that everything was gone. Kautz was open, and three spots on Emmons were open, but no spots at Muir or Ingraham Flats. I turned to JT. Kautz?! Rick and Charli laughed. Not happening.

Luckily, a miraculous 20 new spots opened up at Muir, and we were first to snag them. JT and Sam would be staying through Sunday, Kayla Charli Rick and I would be there through Monday. We signed our permits and ran outside to meet our porters(!), who were helping carry group gear up to Muir.

Our porters knew Charli through OSAT, an awesome organization that this weekend would be taking over Camp Muir. I met H, Dustin, and Lord Byron, who packed my tent, shovel, and rope. Sweet! And I wasn’t even carrying skis! Officially the lightest pack of 2016.

The rare appearance of my vestibule

JT was skinning up, and Sam would be battling his knee injury so he decided to take it easy. The rest of us started up, clomping up the Paradise trails in our mountaineering boots. There was patchy snow from the start, but still plenty of rocky stairs to go up, which I knew would be brutal on the way down. We could also see the train of people ahead of us heading up to Muir. It was going to be a crowded weekend.

I went ahead of the group to scout out campsites. At Muir I claimed three spots and awaited our porters when I awkwardly realized I didn’t have a shovel for my platform or a tent to set up on the platform. I got distracted when JT arrived and allowed one of the spots to be poached by squatters. Crap. When JT was done I leveled out my own platform with his shovel, and just as I finished, H arrived with my tent! Woo! I popped it up, guyed it out with some rocks that I then buried with snow (I’m paranoid, remember?) and we made dinner. I whipped out the berries I had jokingly brought for Sam (everyone has their rituals, Sam swears that berries make him feel better at altitude) and passed them around. They were almost as good as the brookies Charli had brought (brownie-cookies) which had half melted in the sun and turned into delicious soft cookie brownie batter lumps. A feast fit for kings. Eventually JT went to slept in his tent, and Sam and I went to sleep in the climbers’ hut so I wouldn’t wake Kayla when I got up for the Sunday morning summit. The climber’s hut was actually a lot of fun, despite everything I had heard about it. It’s small, and dark, and reminded me of Orizaba which was a cozy nostalgic thought. I fell asleep on the bottom bunk listening to the whisper of stoves and the thumping of mountaineering boots on the floor, which is quickly becoming a comforting environment.

Skipping to sunrise, Adams in the back

At 10PM, Sam’s alarm woke the entire hut. I dozed for another 30 minutes as Sam took some night shots from camp, and we met JT at his tent to rope up. We were moving by 11:30. Halfway to Cathedral Rock, JT stopped and dropped his pack. “I just want to make sure I have my camera.” Five minutes later? “…I definitely don’t have my camera. Should I go back for it?” I laughed. Yes, if I were you, I’d absolutely go back for it. 15 minutes later? “Sleepy me is smarter than awake me. It’s in my pack.” Dammit JT.

We made quick work getting to the cleaver, and were on top of it in about two hours if you subtract the camera delay. The moon was a fat, blood red monster above the horizon, looming above the trains of headlamps we could see crossing Ingraham Flats below us. We tried to pass a few groups taking a break, but the leader of one rope team looked straight at JT and made sure their whole team got in front of us. Okay, they must be fast, I get it.

Weaving through crevasses

Except… they weren’t. The team in front of them was having technical issues, and refused to step aside to let everyone pass. We were on a steep traverse, so I suppose I get it, but we spent nearly an hour and a half walking five steps, stopping for ten minutes, shaking and freezing. JT put it nicely. “I am… not a patient person.” I was doing “the washing machine” to stay warm, which we used to do during swim practice when the heater broke. It’s basically a less attractive shimmy. “Sam, you should have brought your camera to take some night shots while we wait.” Missed opportunity! That’s how slow it was. There was an IMG group behind us, and finally the guide yelled at the team ahead to move aside. After several attempts at shouting, they finally listened and moved off the path, and we were all able to pass.

Sunrise over the crater rim

The route overall was in incredible shape. The cleaver is far more enjoyable (more like “far less torturous”) covered in snow, there were no ladders, and only two sections of fixed lines, neither of which we considered necessary. We took more frequent breaks as altitude set in (at one point JT just turned around and said “Well, I’m hitting a wall” while Sam insisted on being dropped off, to which we all agreed “fuck no, you should have eaten more berries, who needs an LCL anyway” and kept walking). There was a small hill to crest a couple hundred feet below the summit crater, and we took a break right next to it. Which was hilarious, because you watch every single climbing team get to the top and think it’ll be the summit crater and boom, another 400 vertical feet to go. I watched so many faces change from sheer joy and excitement to defeat and resignation. But everyone pushed on. We summitted just around sunrise, so maybe 5:30. Wanting to get down by noon, we walked over to the summit register, snapped the obligatory photos, signed the book, and turned around. Going down should go quickly, right?

Me, Sam, and JT summit!

The first awkward bottleneck

Well, we ran into more bottlenecks. Groups were still on their way up while we were trying to go down, and passing other teams in between crevasses or on steep descents can be awkward. We spent maybe 20 minutes at several different points waiting for other teams before we could descend. But hey, there are worse places to be stuck, and the sun was up so it was fairly warm. Going down the cleaver resulted in some unbelievable pictures, and we were back at Muir by 10:30. Yes!! So much sleep!

Another bottleneck near a collapsing snow plug

Kayla had my sleeping bag and pad all laid out in the tent already (yay!!), and I basically went straight to bed. I didn’t hear Sam leave, but I remember saying a sleepy bye to JT before he skiied down from Muir. Sam snowboarded. They were probably back at the cars in like 30 minutes. Jealous. I lay in my sleeping bag trying to sleep and simultaneously nursing my nose, which was already horribly sunburned.

I dozed on and off for a few hours before getting bored and deciding to make food. I ran into the rest of the OSAT crew, who had taken over half of the campsites there. It’s awesome knowing so many people on a climb. I cooked my three cheese pasta and had a bunch of crackers and cheese. We laid out our ropes and gear next to the tents so all we’d have to do in the morning is get up and grab everything, and then we went to bed. So basically, I climbed, slept, ate, and slept, only to wake up and climb again. Living the dream.

Alpenglow at sunrise

We got up at 10:30pm again, with the intention of being moving by 11. We were a little late to our goal, but got on the route around 11:15 or 11:30. Charli and I were on one rope with Kayla and Rick on the other. With far fewer teams on the route this time, we were able to keep a steady pace, which was a relief. We leapfrogged with a Minnesota Nice rope team decked out in all camo. How did I see them, you ask? They should be invisible! Well Mossy Oak doesn’t camouflage well with snow, unfortunately. Wrong camo. But they were good natured and hilarious, and I was glad to be leapfrogging with such a genuine pair.

It was still cold, and windier than the previous day. I pulled my buff over my face only to have it freeze solid because of my breath. I couldn’t believe I didn’t bring my balaclava. My camera lense froze too, which you’ll notice in most of the photos. One big smudge and a blown out sun. Add that to the list of abuse my camera has endured. And somewhere around 1am on the cleaver, daydreaming, I realized I did not set an out of office email. Shit.

70% of mountaineering is me waiting for the sun to rise and convincing myself that everything will be okay once the sun rises and you can feel your feet again and your face doesn’t hurt and your camera works normally and your water bottle isn’t mostly slush. But Charli had explained why she wanted to summit when we were carrying coils on the cleaver, and I realized I was emotionally invested in everyone getting to the top. That’s not always the case, I can be a little selfish sometimes. But this time around, it was about all four of us getting there.

RMI rope team at sunrise

Coming along the crater rim

Charli trudged behind me as Kayla and Rick brought up the rear. Rick, who I don’t believe I’ve mentioned yet is 62. That’s not a typo. Sixty two. And crushing Mt. Rainier at 4am. We crested the false hill to everyone’s dismay, and pushed on towards the summit. Charli announced that she was done with this shit. A four person team was starting their descent as we gained the crater rim, and when I said hi they laughed and replied “You have your own summit reception party!!” just as Charli behind me said “FUCK my LIFE I hate EVERYTHING” and I burst out laughing. I think I was the only one who heard both teams, but the timing was perfect. Charli apologized for being grumpy and I laughed even harder because grumpy Charli is basically my constant internal dialogue. And of course, 15 feet later, Charli was all smiles.

Rick, Charli, and me on the true summit! Kayla snuggling in a sleeping bag out of frame.

Once on the crater rim, we ran into the OSAT group who had beaten us to the top and exchanged congrats while I hid my blistered nose from view. I was rocking white face from all the sunscreen I had been using too, and still no luck. Kayla was freezing cold so we set her up in my sleeping bag and started making hot chocolate and tea to get her warm again. Rick (62!! Can’t use your age as an excuse anymore Rick!), Charli, and I trekked over to the summit register so we could sign and snap our summit photos, and then returned to Kayla. I kept an eye on where the Emmons route meets the crater rim, hoping we’d see Kacie and Shawna’s OSAT group as well.

Me and Kilo Charlie!

Amazingly, they summitted 15 minutes later! I turned around to see several 4-person rope teams gaining the ridge, and knew it had to be them. I dropped my stuff and ran back across the crater. Literally. Past our Minnesota Camo friends, who had just summitted. I got to the summit register and asked if anyone was with OSAT. I saw Shawna sitting by the register and ran over to say hi, followed by “WHERE’S KACIE?!” “Over there!” “KACIE!!” And there she was!! Kacie Grice, conquering Rainier!

Descending into the clouds

“Come over here so I can smoke downwind.” I cracked up. Top of Rainier, and she’s about to smoke. Well okay. Gotta mark your territory. I went to go sit downwind with her and immediately burned my ass on a fumarole, which I thought was her cigarette until I realized she was smoking her cigarette, which had to mean it was not touching my butt. Amazing how hot those heat vents are even when everything else around you is freezing. We snapped a summit photo of the two of us, and I returned to my friends to start our trek down. Clouds were moving in and the forecast called for thunderstorms, and I didn’t want to end my weekend like that.

Great visibility

The route had already changed, even just in the 24 hours since I had summitted with Sam and JT. One crevasse was widening and had become a significant step, and a snow plug was collapsing piece by piece. The snow plug was still passable going quickly while it was still cold, but late in the day, we’d probably have wanted to set up protection. The larger crevasse had turned into a legitimate jump, and on our way down there was a ladder ready to set up across it. It’s amazing how well the guides care for the route. DC would be a pretty gnarly route in August if it weren’t for their help.

Top of the Cleaver, clouds clearing!

We were back at camp around noon, leaving us two hours before our porters met us. We made food, napped, chatted, and I basked at how I was chilling on a glacier instead of sitting at a desk in front of Excel. I tied a shirt around my face to block the sun because everything hurt. Lord Byron and Dustin arrived and told us H wasn’t coming because he wasn’t feeling well, but as we were packing up, who comes trudging through camp? H! Pushing through the pain to help us get down. And they had bought us fresh fruit and coconut water! Guys, apples taste SO GOOD on climbs. So good. So do blueberries. I bring shitty food on climbs. That needs to change.

Glissading! Woohoo!

We began the glissade descent to Paradise. Dustin had mapped out every glissade chute, and even named some of the steeper ones. Glissading is both hilarious and efficient. It’s like sledding for adults. My allegedly waterproof pants were soaked through after a few chutes, but that’s not enough to stop anyone! Once past the glissade chutes we fought through the stone stairs of knee destroying doom and Kayla figured out a shortcut to the overnight parking lot so we didn’t have to go by the ranger station. Yes!

I cramponed my spork 😦

I got to the car and realized something was missing. My hat!! Not my hat! Shit I just lost Hat 1.0 like a month and a half ago, how did I already lose this one?!?! Okay Eve calm down deep breath let’s walk a little ways back up the trail and maybe it’ll turn up and YES there it IS IT’S LYING IN THE PARKING LOT I have never been so relieved in my life. I slathered lotion on my sunburned face and we regrouped with the team to figure out where to grab dinner. I suggested treating our porters to dinner and of course everyone agreed. We settled on a small pub about 2.5-3 miles from the national park gate.

Looking back up at Rainier from near Paradise

I was pretty tired. I knew it was going to be a long drive, so I was thrilled to break it up a bit. And lemonade is always so freaking good after a climb. We devoured our burgers and fries and I chugged several pink lemonades (lies! they were yellow! The waitress warned us though). I put more lotion on my face. And ate more. I couldn’t finish my burger, which was weird. I’ll chalk it up to the sunburn. No one was spared. Rick had a raccoon burn going, Kayla’s arms were lobster red, and I look like someone had tried to make a creme brulee out of my face.

Huge, huge thanks to everyone who was involved in this weekend. It was an awesome weekend with perfect conditions and good company, and it’s amazing that everyone summitted successfully. You guys are all bad asses. And honorable mention to my dermatologist, who didn’t fire me as a patient when I showed up at 7:30am on Tuesday with high alpine facial burns.

Selfie with the summit marker

Eldorado Peak & Dorado Needle

Posted on June 14, 2016 by evejakubowski

Tiny skiiers traversing below Mix Up Peak

It was 3:05am. “Guys. We’re fifteen minutes in and so far I’ve used a slug as a belay and I dropped my oatmeal in the river.” That was Kacie, grumbling already after we had schwacked across the maze of logs that drops you off at the beginning of the Eldorado approach. I didn’t drop my oatmeal or utilize the local slug population, but I was already wondering if lugging these stupid skis would be worth it. I had pictured the trip being “light and fast” and instead here I was with probably 50lbs on my back if you include the rope, skis, and ski boots. The only “light and fast” aspect was that eventually the skis might be on my feet,and I brought a bivvy instead of a tent, which saved me 2lbs. Except then I filled those 2lbs with crackers and a variety of cheeses and chocolates that I never got around to eating. So “light and fast” ended up being “slow and heavy and uncoordinated and slightly off kilter,” but I mean whatever, we’d make it work. Climbed 6/4-6/5, 2016.

Rob’s team above Moraine Lake

Distance: I do not know
Elevation: 6668 to the top of Eldorado (8868ft), then lose 1600ft and regain 1200 more going up Dorado Needle (8440ft)
Weather: 40’s in the night, 80’s and sunny in the day. Brutal.
Commute from Seattle: 2:30
Did I Trip: Shit, I don’t remember! Probably yes.

First light on Johannesburg

Like I said, we got started around 2:30am. That meant a 3 hour nap between arriving at the trailhead and moving, which you’d think I’d be used to by now. I don’t think you get good at it, you just get better at resigning yourself to discomfort and a lack of sleep. I whined and hoped for a 3am wake up, but these guys are relentless. 2:30 it is. John didn’t even sleep. Freakin’ animal.

The first river crossing is exactly what you’d expect to get from walking across slippery wet logs in the dark lit by KC’s spare headlamp because your batteries were assholes and decided to explode sometime in the night. We made it to the trailhead sign on the other side of the river, featuring directions to the trailhead from the highway (especially helpful when you’re already on the hike), a few more bushes, an overrun river sweeping away the hints of trail, and KC’s aptitude for early morning snarkiness. I’m convinced we never go the right way during the first quarter mile. I also never go the right way on the way back either, so maybe it’s just always more bushy than I expect. Regardless, after that quarter mile, the bushwack is over and you’re on a pretty well-traveled trail.

One of the many Logs of Sorrow (photo credit: Tony)

Rob dwarfed by Johannesburg

Well-traveled doesn’t mean pleasant. And pleasant depends what you’re into. It’s still a climber’s trail, featuring Logs of Sorrow (downed trees to crawl under) among other smaller obstacles such as roots, rocks, branches to snag your skis, trees to scoot (or fall) over. Then you reach the boulder field, and you think oh hell yes we’re out of the trees! Except the boulder field goes on forever. It’s honestly not so bad on the way up, it’s on the way down with the screeeeee of skis dragging along stone that really gets you. You think yes, I got off that rock perfectly, and then you pivot and thunk SKRIIIITCH there are the skis, not clear of the rock like you thought. But on the way up, it’s a nice break from forest. Johannesburg rose tall in the background, the sun came up, our speed picked up.

Johannesburg and Glacier Peak, three little climbers in the shade

We hit snow around 4500ft. John and I took the Scenic Route (a la Orizaba) once beyond the boulders and threw in some huge switchbacks up the basin trying to kill time letting the others catch up and finally said fuck it and went over to the notch. Rob was about 10 minutes behind us so we relaxed until he caught up and then dropped down the notch where we once again started the waiting game. Do we rope up with Rob (on foot) and leave Tony (skis) to rope up with Kacie and Steve? Do we leave Rob behind to be on a four person rope? Are we saintly enough to wait for everyone? Just as we were about to make a probably-not-saintly decision, Rob went over to check out the notch, and thank god, the rest of the group was coming. We got Tony on his skis and John led the way while I anchored our rope team and we left the foot team behind to figure out their own team.

Skinning across to Eldorado

We made decent time to the ice cliffs, which weren’t even recognizable compared to last summer. We skinned over them and quickly across the glacier, where Tony started to slow down as my energy practically exploded because I love everything and everyone and everything is great as soon as I’m on a glacier on a sunny day. Tony’s feet were bugging him and he wanted to switch socks, so we dropped him a few hundred feet from high camp. We got to camp, took off the ski boots, lounged around in the sun, and awaited everyone’s arrival. I grabbed John’s shovel ready to fulfill my destiny as the Patron Saint of Alpine Shits and dig out the composting toilet, only to discover… it was already melted out! Woohoo! No blue bags necessary, baby! That’s a luxurious glacier. The Four Seasons of glaciers.

the 5 star accomodations

Starting up to the summit

John fell asleep for the first time in what, 30 hours? I tanned and napped. We chatted with a few other climbing groups. We debated whether the rest of the group would want to summit today or would be tired and would want to wait for Sunday. The other three arrived. Tony said something to Kacie, who responded “You don’t know beef,” to which Tony, looking perplexed, said “what’s beef?” I jumped in with “Do you know what beef is?” and Kacie’s face lit up – “Beef is when you need two gats to go to sleep!” The Biggie quotes continued and we extended our break, Tony looking confused while Kacie and I cracked up and the climbing team next to us tried not to laugh out loud. We eventually settled on an afternoon summit of Eldorado. Awesome.

John and Tony on the ridge

The route from high camp is straightforward, especially so because there were like 40000000 people up there. Okay, not actually, I exaggerated by a factor of 100,000. It was more like 40. But 40 is more than that area should ever see in a 24 hours span, holy shit. Don’t tell any of them about the toilet. We’ve established I’m not a saint.

The route was clear up until the bergschrund which is opening up already. It was easy to pass on the left and the rocks were a simple route to avoid all potential obstacles, which were still mostly buried in snow. I was, of course, carrying my skis. I knew the top pitch would be too steep, and I knew I wasn’t good enough at skiing to dodge crevasses or bergschrunds. But Tony laughed and said “well you’ve brought them up every peak already, it’s kind of a thing now…” which was exactly the right thing to say. Okay fine, I’ll bring em, and just carry them down until it’s mellow enough to ski, as usual. Like I said, training weight.

Summit! (Photo Credit: Tony)

John led once again, which was great. Because breaking trail in slush sucks, and with him carrying a split board and Tony carrying skis ahead of me, almost none of my steps collapsed. We reached the knife ridge and started up it, and let me just say I am so glad we went in the afternoon and didn’t have to deal with the 40 other people on the ridge. It would have been a pain. We took turns heading up to the cornice which was the highest point thanks to snow. I didn’t actually stand on it – regardless of how stable it was, my chances of balancing on a cornice, tied into a rope, with skis on my back, were not convincing enough for me to risk it. So I settled for standing a foot or two below it and tapping it. You do you, folks, that was my choice.

Tony ripping turns off the cornice

We turned around and let Rob’s team go past us. I took the rope, and Tony and John set up their skis and split board (but not until they had urinated off the knife edge). I started to boot down to mellow terrain, and hear whooping and turn around to see John sawing off the stretch of cornice below them and knocking it down the slope. A dream come true. I whipped out the camera. Game time baby!

John after they quickly passed me

They quickly caught up to me and Tony agreed to take the rope so I’d have a chance of skiing (I can’t ski well with too much weight in my pack. I mean, I can’t ski well with a day pack, I basically can’t ski period with more than that). I snapped a few pictures of the two of them and carried on my merry way to below the bergschrund where I switched to ski boots and clicked into my skis. Let the pizza party begin.

Pizza party baby! (Photo Credit: Tony)

Team heading up at sunrise

So I hadn’t skied since Snowfield, which was an awesome, awesome day. I thought I’d be anxious getting back on them, but it was just the same old back seat skiing as usual, with scattered crevasses. Not many, luckily, so I was able to do a slow easy traversing pizza while (I can only imagine) the four or five bad ass skiiers on their way up chuckled and said “oh honey” as I laughed at myself, so happy to be skiing in front of Moraine Lake… if you can call what I was doing “skiing.”

John skinning at sunrise

Back at camp, I lay out the bivvy and cooked dinner. We were blatantly separate from the OSAT and Mountaineers and NOLS groups, who all had nicely pitched tents and organized kitchens and we had body bags that we tossed on the ground wherever we felt like sitting with bottles of whiskey. Tony decided they were ODAT, “One Drink at a Time.” Rob tested out a flat rock below me. “It’s not fit to my contours,” he muttered. I went to sleep giggling.

I was asleep before sunset, which is easy to do when sunset is at 9pm. I woke up for a few minutes to snap photos, and then periodically woke up throughout the night to see if we could see the northern lights, which we could not. Those forecasts are lies.

Me skinning up at sunrise (photo credit: John)

Some well-cut side stepping

At 4am, John and I woke up to hit Dorado Needle. We took our time getting moving, making tea and coffee, joking with the others who for some reason woke up as well. Even Kacie! We roped up on our skis and set off into sunrise towards the campsite I wish we had used on the col between McAllister and Inspiration glaciers.

There were a few short downhills that we skied, roped up. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Two not-so-great skiers, roped up, skiing downhill. What could go wrong?” John said on the first one. Luckily, nothing. I wish someone had been there to video it.

Looking at Dorado Needle from the col, you can see the two climbers breaking trail

At the col, after John wiped out 3 times and I could barely stop with my pizza while roped-up-skiing we decided it was too icy to drop to the glacier below. John put his board on his pack, and I planted my skis right where we stood. We joked about glissading down but continued to walk, which was a great choice because the slope dropped off into a crevasse/schrund ish feature that would have left us with very sore asses at best.

John ascending snow, Eldorado on the right

There was a team of two who had broken trail all the way up to the base of the rock climb, which was awesome for us. It meant quick, easy going. I led the charge this time with John anchoring, except the snow was softening and me with like a 15 lb pack didn’t pack down great steps for John carrying his split board, and as temperatures rose, our pace slowed as more and more steps collapsed. We reached the base of the summit block, and decided instead of following the first team’s route, we’d head up the snowy face.

Me leading the pitch past John’s spicy belay (Photo credit: John)

With a few small crevasses around us, John set up a belay just below the first feature and I led a pitch up to a patch of rocks. Except our twin 50 (aka 25m doubled over) wasn’t long enough to get there, so shit, I set up a deadman in the middle of the slope and belayed John up. John continued past, made it to the rocks, and hesitated. “How much rope do I have?” “Uhh.. 8 feet.” He had like 20 feet, I just suck at judging length (take note, boys). “Okay, how much do I have now?” “….. still 8 feet, but actually 8 feet this time! How does it look up there?” I couldn’t see him. “Not…. great…” was the response. Finding a solid anchor and belay spot was tricky. “What about now? Rope?” “5 feet!” followed by “That’s me! You are all out of rope!” and John set up what I could only imagine was a dicey anchor in a precarious position.

John nearing the ridge

I reached John quickly and laughed at the belay spot. “Climb like you aren’t roped at all, and get a sling around anything as soon as possible” was John’s advice. If we had had another 10 meters of rope, he’d have had a killer spot. I climbed on a nice combination of snow, jagged easy-to-grab rock, and ice, found a great thread, and started an upward traverse to the ridge where there was one random horn sticking up that I happily threw a sling around. Once on the ridge, set up a deadman and brought John up from his less than ideal belay spot.

Fun easy climbing, John leading the first rock pitch

The ridge was a piece of cake compared to the climb up the face. Very clear anchors, easy rock, and the views were absolutely incredible. John led the first pitch of rock up to the well l known finger traverse which was more exposed than it looks in photos. Don’t look down. The idea of au cheval-ing it freaked me out, so I led with the finger traverse on the way over, while John (climbing in snowboard boots!) went for the au-cheval move. He snuck past me and led the final pitch to the summit, and belayed me over to join. We snapped a few photos and turned around after just a few minutes, knowing the rest of the team was waiting for us.

Au cheval!

I’m an idiot, and after our first rappel down I realized my ice axe was still on the ridge. Mother fucker. There was another team going up after us, and I asked if they’d grab it. They said yes, but were so chill about everything I honestly couldn’t tell if they were serious. We waited down below while they simulclimbed, and they remembered my axe! Yay! So I only felt like a dumbass for 30 minutes instead of 8 hours.

Yours truly leading the finger traverse (Photo Credit: John)

John boarded down as I once again booted it. We met at the bottom of the slope for the climb back up to the col, which went by quickly. We strapped on our skins at the col, and started the traverse back. I was hoping to legitimately ski it, but there wasn’t enough downhill on the route I took, and I eventually gave up and put the skis back in walk mode. Bummer, man. We debated whether the rest of our group was still there. Would they wait? It was like 2pm. I laughed. I’d have left, but I’ve seen them concerned about other climbers before, so who knows maybe they waited. And if they did head down, we’d probably catch up to them.

The answer? They left. Tony left us a note saying he went down with the other “bassturds,” claiming it was less offensive spelling, but I prefer to think he just spelled it wrong. We took a quick break, packed up, and started down from camp.

Summit shot! Eldorado and a joke-glasses face in the clouds. I know you see it. (Photo credit: John)

John snowboarding the lower glacier

I pizza-ed the lower glacier as well, but had to take the skis off for an awkward stretch that gave you maybe 2ft between rocks on the right and a crevasse on the left that I had no doubt I’d miss (and even if I hit it, my huge fucking pizza wouldn’t fit). I’m also not great on uneven snow, and the slope was torn up by the mobs that had headed down before us. Either way, we got back to the notch which I’m sure I ascended in similar style to a beached whale.

From the notch, it felt like quick progress back down. The boulder field was a bitch, but that was to be expected. Maneuvering skis down that is a core and back workout. You need to turn around to downclimb things you could just hop off of, my boot was once again shredding my ankle, the heat was brutal, and I was almost out of water. But I get a little better at that boulder field every damn time I go through it. Fuck you, boulder field. Some day you’ll be covered in snow and I’ll just ski down you and laugh and flip you off (and probably immediately wipe out).

Baker, Shuksan, and the Pickets from Eldorado

Back in the forest, I hit my usual “this will never end” wall. But the forest is the last stretch and I was relieved to be in the shade, so I just zoned out and awaited what I call “Sam’s Tree.” Sam’s Tree is definitely not the halfway point, in the forest but I have mentally convinced myself that it is and I do not want to hear otherwise. It’s a downed tree that I tried to jump onto the first time we did Eldorado last summer, but I started falling backwards and Sam literally caught me and pushed me the rest of the way over so I didn’t fall flat on my back off a 3ft tree.

I think the Colonial group and Snowfield from Eldorado

Shortly after Sam’s Tree, I suddenly hear a variation of Tony’s rooster call combined with my “whoop WHOOP” response. That’s gotta be the other half of our group!! Wooo! We hustled down to them and I was laughing and went right up to Kacie, who said she knew I’d recognize the call! It’s official, Tony’s rooster sound and my whoop WHOOP have become a standard call and response.

Rob had hurt his knee, so Kacie was carrying much of his shit. Steve lifted my pack and looked impressed. Flattered but I didn’t want to think about it because lifting it up sucks ass. I finally shouldered it and we started the last haul to the cars.

The camp I wish we had made (from the McAllister Glacier)

We didn’t totally fuck up the last quarter mile. Part of the trail was beneath a river, but we managed to schwack over to the logs. Except the logs were nearly underwater too! Ahh! I was carrying 50 fucking lbs with skis and already have terrible balance before you factor in any of that. I used my poles and looked like a foal learning how to walk except suspended on a log across a raging river. But at least we were surrounded by delicious salmonberries. I saw the Most Perfect Salmonberry a few feet off one of the logs but couldn’t get to it. I told Kacie to have a look when she got to it. That’s why it was so perfect, because no one could reach it.

Another view of the camp I wish we had made (from the Inspiration Glacier)

But of course, as soon as we get across the last log, Kacie comes running up and opens her hand. “Look what I got for you! I kept it protected over the logs!!! Didn’t crush it!” It was truly the Most Perfect Salmonberry. I laughed and devoured it and we went into the bushes to get more handfuls and eventually made our way over to the cars, where Tony and Shawna (who had been leading an OSAT group) had a hammock set up between our bright yellow cars. That’s awesome.

We sorted out our gear, sorta. Someone ended up with John’s rope, I have Kacie’s headlamp, I probably have some of John’s carabiners, Surafel’s picket is in my trunk even though he ended up doing Sahale instead of Eldorado. But hopefully I’ll see them all again for another killer weekend. I left pretty quickly – my bra straps had cut bloody 2.5” long wounds into both of my shoulders, my face was leathery with sunburn, I had had a consistent nosebleed for the entire fucking day, carrying rope coils had chafed my neck until I figured out how to use my buff as a block, my lower back was bruised from my pack, my ankles were bleeding from my boots, and I had to meet my friend that night and try to not smell like shit and sweat and flake dried blood all over the place. My coworkers saw my feet in flip flops the next morning and were horrified, to my amusement, because my feet were actually pretty good ignoring the ankle wounds. Cause hey, it’s the price you pay for those views, right? Worth it every time.

Okay, our camp wasn’t so bad.

Snowfield Peak in a Day

Posted on May 21, 2016 by evejakubowski

Traverse to Colonial Basin, Colonial on the left, Neve on the right

Colonial from low on the ridge

Snowfield in a Day, AKA RIP my Knee, Hat and Other Less Important But Equally Beloved Objects. Why one day? Because I’m impatient, and why not. What else did I lose? Read on to find out.

So the real reason is I had to be back in town Sunday to see a friend who was visiting. And Sunday’s weather was questionable. I have no idea why Sam suggested we do this in a day, but believe me, I was thrilled. If they had decided two days, I’d have been out, but one day? Hmm. JT as usual was “down for whatever,” and I was hesitant. Eventually Sam said “You and JT are two of the most fit people I know, if there’s a group that can do it, it’s us.” Well shit. You just brought my pride and fitness into the equation, and according to the Jakubowski clan commandments, that means I have to say yes. Anyone who knows me knows how much pride I take in being fit, even when I’m relatively out of shape (now). Almost to the point of fault. So I replied. “Fuck it, I’m in.”

Distance: 15 miles
Elevation gain: 7200ft, not including the ups and downs
Weather: 50’s and sunny
Commute from Seattle: 2:30
Did I Trip: I wiped out quite grandly as a matter of fact. On skis. Did not trip in boots. I’m good at walking.

Finally, consistent snow

At the last minute we added Jim onto the group, a guy training for Denali who none of us had actually met but he seemed to know what he was getting into. Like many of our other trips, we all arrived individually at the trailhead. We thought we’d start at 10pm, then 11pm, then midnight, then Jim arrived at 12:15 and we decided he deserved a nap. Okay, 2am start. Sweet. 5/7/2016.

The trail to Pyramid Lake went smoothly. It had been cleared since the last time I was there, so no blow downs to negotiate while carrying skis, and no snow to impede our progress. The three guys took off at a decent pace. I wasn’t positive I could make this trip, and I was dreading the steep sections, so I went for the slow and steady approach. I also was about as overdressed as you could be, and shed my first three layers one at a time within the first hour. Why did I wear two pairs of pants?! Why did I need the expedition weight long underwear?! Because I am dumb and I enjoy suffering.

But not quite enough for skinning

We took a break at the lake, where I lost item #1: my Julbo Explorers. I had them around my neck so I wouldn’t have to dig for them at sunrise, but removed them to fix something, placed them on the ground, and never picked them up. Being a fashionista (ha! jokes) I actually had a second pair of sunglasses with me, my sweet new Sunskis that I was planning to test out! They’re the opposite of my Julbos. The Julbo Explorer is not polarized, not cheap, indestructible, and not very fashionable. My new Sunskis are polarized, and cheap, probably pretty destructible (TBD), and quite fashionable. We’ll come back to that when the sun rises.

Plus we had this shit to deal with

We found the boot path skirting the right side of the lake, and off we went. The boot path heads southeast up to the base of the broad ridge, and follows that ridge to the glacier. It was not marked, but easy enough to follow for the majority of the time, save a few 90 second pauses where every direction looks like a potential path but no direction quite looks like the path you should take and you stand there in the dark deliberating. We went up and up, with some solid 3rd class scramble sections in the forest. Funny how that can happen, I forget there can be scrambles in the trees. As the sun rose, we reached 4,000ft (just below the shoulder of the ridge) and we hit consistent snow. Boot path covered, we were on our own. Not even tracks to follow. It had been a while since anyone was up there, and that’s how we like it.

The traverse to Colonial Basin

We traversed along the ridge side of most of the ridge, not wanting to waste elevation gain and loss over the ups and downs. That isn’t to say we had an easy time of it. There were some veggie belays (useful), some postholing (I dodged them), some moat struggles (I did not dodge these), some falling over backwards off rocks downhill because veggie belays are finnicky (Sam), some bitch-slapping by trees and branches and slide alder (to my face), some “who can choose the best route” “your route looks mediocre I’ll go this way instead” “haha, suckers!” “oh wait all of our routes are shit” debates. But eventually we made it to the traverse beneath Pyramid Peak to Colonial Basin. And that meant we were done with vegetation, at least for a while. Goodbye greenery, onwards to the kingdom of snow and ice!

Sam admiring the basin, glacier nicely covered by snow

JT and Jim took a long break and put their skis together while Sam and I started to boot across the traverse. The snow was shitty, the runout was bad, I saw no point in switching boots and stressing myself out trying to skin this when Sam was gonna walk. JT and Jim figured they’d catch up to us when they started skinning. Psych! The snow was that lousy collapsey backslidey type snow. We saw them start, and then split up. One sat down below the skin tracks after a small slip. For what seemed like forever. We kept walking. Eventually we realized they were taking their skis off. Ha! If they couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t have stood a chance, so I sat there basking in my correct choice. Sam and I popped out by the base of the glacial lake (frozen over, which is okay because I hear it is brown and not glacial blue), dropped our packs, and hit the snacks while we waited for the dejected skiers to catch up.

The only giveaway that it was a glacier. You can see it beneath this year’s snowpack.

We gazed up at the peaks around us, beyond pumped to be there. Like kids on Christmas, except the feeling is even better than Christmas morning. I get Christmas blues, I get stressed and sad that morning. There’s none of that up in the mountains. Just the joy of knowing you’re somewhere most people will never even know exists, staring at the beauty around you, without any sort of tracks to follow or any signs of other people. An entire swath of mountains just for you. Ditching the crowds and being surrounded by nothing is an incredible feeling.

Sam ascending Colonial Glacier with Paul Bunyan’s Stump, Pinnacle Peak, and Pyramid Peak in the background

JT and Jim finally caught up and had quick snacks themselves. They put on their skis for real, and started skinning up the Colonial glacier to the notch between Colonial and Neve glaciers, just to climber’s right of Neve peak. Sam and I continued with boots, knowing he was faster without skins. And I just wasn’t sure if I could ski whatever was on the other side of the notch, so why switch to skis and ski boots if I need to switch back to mountaineering boots at the top? Not worth it.

JT and Jim left us in the dust. We took turns breaking trail. I’m useful, sometimes. I played this trip way too conservatively. But Sam and JT seriously might be two of the most fit people I know, and I didn’t want to run out of steam halfway up Snowfield trying to be cool and break trail and push the pace. We made it to the notch, and I was afraid everyone would have an “oh shit, look how far away it is” moment like at Black Peak. Nope! JT came running back to see how close we were, all excited about it, Sam’s face lit up as soon as he saw it, and I could have run in circles with joy. We stomped through some ice to get running water, filled our bottles with fresh mountain runoff, I had a 5-star pee looking out at Snowfield, and soon enough, we were on our way down the Neve glacier.

Looking back on our rest spot from the meltwater

Jim and JT ready to ski down to the Neve glacier

JT and Jim skiied down, Sam and I booted and then skinned over to meet them. We roped up (my first time roping up on skis). The glacier looked mellow and the route generally avoids crevasses, but better safe than sorry. Some steeper sections of the glacier were already exposed, and we could see a few cracks and some dips in snow that could be weakening snow bridges. I am usually not too concerned about which side of my body the rope is on (uphill or downhill) since I’ve heard arguments for both sides, but JT pointed out that on skis it might be way more awkward being swept off your feet by someone falling than with boots. Okay, can’t argue that. I awkwardly stepped over the rope in skis. Best thing about Snowfield? No switchbacks! Which is good, because stepping over a rope in skis is awkward.

Sam nearly at the base of the summit pyramid

Sam led the group since we knew he’d be slowest on his fantastic (not) skins that never gripped and always fell off, and that way he’d set the pace. I was happy to go second, JT came in third, and Jim anchored. Skinning went by quickly, drifting across the top of the world.

Jim perfecting JT’s steps

We reached the base of the summit pyramid, already marveling at how short the peaks around us suddenly looked. The route technically takes the west ridge, but we’re an impatient group. And it was snowy. So we chose the North Face Direct. Which isn’t a real name for a real route, it just means we said fuck it and ditched the skis and started climbing the 55ish degree snow on the northwest face instead of scrambling the ridge. JT led the way, Jim perfected his steps, and I walked up their staircase with Sam close behind. Close to the top Jim and I thanked JT for breaking trail, and JT said “No problem! Actually if you don’t mind, I’d kind of like to finish it myself…” Like he had to ask for permission. If you’re in the zone, go for it. You aren’t going to hear it from me. At this point I knew I’d be fine energywise, but hey, if he’s feeling it, sweet. Get it dude. I felt a little guilty for never breaking trail, but let’s be real I’m the slowest here, if I’m breaking trail we probably aren’t moving too efficiently.

JT and Jim on the good trail!

JT brought us up to the final scramble, which was…. not great. We ditched the ice axes, made a few 3rd-possibly-4th-class moves, and JT and I stopped and looked at each other. It wasn’t looking great. Jim went to check out a snowy route sans axe. We debated. JT said he wouldn’t be bummed if we turned around here. I announced my obvious summit fever. JT pointed out we had a rope, one of us could belay the other up, set up anchors with a few slings, and then belay the rest up. I contemplated the idea and peeked around the other side of the ridge, where HOLY SHIT THERE’S A TRAIL! I turned to JT. It was Christmas morning again!!!

I (for once) have no idea what these are. Eldorado is in there somewhere, with Klawatti and Primus and Austera. Maybe Teebone Right on the right? Or maybe that’s too far right and out of frame. Any ideas?

Paul Bunyan’s Stump, Pinnacle, and Pyramid looking like tiny spikes, Neve and Colonial on the right

We took off. Jim found us soon enough as he had bailed on his steep snow sans axe route. The scramble was mostly 2nd class with a few 3rd class moves. I hopped up onto the summit, not ready to believe it was the true summit until I was standing on it. Too similar to Cashmere, or Black Peak, what if I get up there and there’s another hundred vertical feet, or we’re 50 feet to the left?! But it was, and it was a nice broad rocky summit, and I looked around and almost cried because this was the most awesome thing I had done in a long time and it was so damn pretty and no one else was there.

Baker and Shuksan, Pickets on the right

I snapped pictures of the others gaining the summit. I snapped a hundred photos of the surrounding peaks. Looking south it felt like winter, with snow covering the northern faces of all of the peaks and ridges. Looking north felt like spring, with more trees and a quickly receding snow level. It looked like snow had already melted compared to Black Peak the previous weekend. We all high fived, and had our snacks, and I donned both puffy jackets I had brought. We wrapped up the summit with a summit selfie, and soon enough were on our way back down.

Sam steps up to the summit

I had been worried about one of the tougher scramble moves, but they were all totally fine. We painstakingly downclimbed the steps we had made after debating a few new routes, and it wasn’t as terrible as I thought. It went by quickly, and once we were past the rocks, it was a killer glissade that took us perfectly back to the skis.

Jim, master of summit selfies

Since we hadn’t seen much to worry about on the way up, we figured we were safe to follow our tracks and ski down. I (surprise!) was last. But you know what? I made it all the way back to where we had roped up without wiping out. I was going 2mph maybe, with a pizza, but I made some huge awkward newbie turns and loved every single second of it. It was like Black Peak again, where the skiing felt like flying and not like crashing. I was getting better at controlling speed and turning. Not good, but progress.

Sam coming back up the notch, arm of Snowfield in the back (true summit out of frame on the left)

We met back up below the Colonial-Neve col. I skinned up this time, following Jim and JT’s tracks with some quality kick turns (can you tell I’m proud?). I handed my camera over to JT before skiing down the Colonial glacier so he could document that my skis do in fact occasionally attach to my feet, and I started my pizza slice descent.

I mean I basically dreamed of skiing with this background from the moment I started looking at skis

This slope was a stretch. I didn’t think it would be, it looked easy enough, but I had to basically traverse with my huge pizza to keep my speed in check. I had one small wipeout, had to happen eventually right? I was still on one piece so I jumped up and got right back to it. Finally I was at the point where I thought I could just bomb down the rest of the slope.

Pizza makes dreams come true

Nope. I hit a large bump of snow that sent me flying. I managed to land, but couldn’t get back in control and wiped out instead. Skis flying, bindings off, tumbling with my glacier gear clanking all around me (guys, at least put your ice screws away before you ski). I sat up and took inventory. Arms? Check. Leg? Check. Other leg? Yup. Does everything bend? Yes. Do I have all my shit on my pack? Yes. Stabbed by an ice screw? No. Okay, stand up, retrieve skis. Joints? Elbows and knees? 3 of 4 were feeling good. 1 of the 4 was a little crabby with me. I popped the skis back on and did the slowest descent ever, stopping at every turn waiting for adrenaline to die down. And everything had been going so well! Come on man!

PIZZA

At the base of the Colonial Glacier, Sam and I decided to boot across to the ridge again. Jim and JT started out on skis as Sam and I trekked behind them. Eventually they yet again gave up, and joined our old bootpath. The knee was achy but not an impediment at all, so I figured I’d deal with it once we were down.

Back at the ridge I finally caved and downed a caffeinated gu. Everyone else had already destroyed a few 5 hour energies, gu, caffeinated shot blocks, and I had held out for so long. But I hate the descent. And within 15 minutes, that gu had me jogging to keep up with JT and Jim who were half running, half walking the descent. I felt awesome. It was gonna be a quick hike back to the car.

Last light hits the basin

Here’s the sad part. We lost track of our old footprints. My phone was dead, so we had no gps of where we were relative to the route. We had maps and compass, so we weren’t in bad shape. But we dropped too much elevation far too soon rather than meeting the bootpath on the broad ridge, and ended up in a classic North Cascades bushwack. You can’t win out here. You might have a killer summit day, but you won’t be that lucky. We turned it into a game of Marco Polo. Can’t see Jim up ahead? Someone shouted “Marco!” and we’d wait. “Polo!” Okay, he’s that way! Scurry that way, catch a glimpse of him, shit I lost Sam, is JT still behind me? “Marco!” “Polo!” “Polo!” Okay, Jim’s to the right and Sam’s directly below. “Polo?” And JT is above me wondering if he was included in my plea for vocal directions.

Comfortable break spot in the morning

We endured a few hours of Bushwacking Marco Polo before I started to get crabby about it. We schwacked, and battled slide alder and pine trees and at one point I put on my winter gloves so I could use the only vegetation around me, Devil’s Club, as a veggie belay crossing a gully. Brutal. I dropped my gloves, picked them up, and realized my hat was gone. No!!!! Not my hat! I almost cried again, this time in sadness rather than summit joy. That hat was my favorite thing that I owned. It isn’t even that great for climbing but it’s great for sleeping and I like the colors and I like the pompom and it makes my forehead look less like a five head and more like a three head. I looked up at everyone like a lost kid. “I dropped my hat!”

Jogging back down the ridge

Well, you’re on the side of a mountain, and it’s getting dark, and you know you have zero chance of finding it. So you get over it, and you carry on. But in that moment, where I was already exhausted and frustrated with the bushwack and the fact we hadn’t found the bootpath and still had so far to go (you can see the damn highway, yet you’re still 3000ft above it) that hat was a person that I was leaving stranded on a mountain, alone, without purpose, without friends, exposed to the brutality of the North Cascades. I felt terrible. Yeah, my pride is up there somewhere with my abandoned hat.

Remember that one time the sun rose and now you’re bushwacking in the dark with no hat

As I was pulling the pieces of my recently shattered mental state together, we came across a downed tree. Sam was with me. JT was hidden behind us, Jim was ahead of us scouting out the way. I stared blankly at the tree. “This tree is my Mt. Everest,” I said lamely. There was no easy way around it. Have you ever bushwacked with skis sticking off your pack? It sucks. “Here!” Sam almost sounded excited about the fact he had found a way to step over the tree that didn’t involve skis getting caught on anything. Okay Eve, you had your low point, time to move the fuck on.

Paul Bunyan’s Stump and Pinnacle from Colonial Glacier

We turned on headlamps shortly after my Everest. Still no boothpath. We knew if we kept heading north/northwest we’d eventually run into either the lake or the bootpath, and that was the game plan in the dark. Finally we ran into a flag that Sam had mocked on the way up. “Who’s laughing now?!” the flag said. Shut up, flag, you win, thank you for being so glorious. Sam plucked it from the ground and triumphantly carried it. Soon we were at the lake. You know what wasn’t at the lake? My Julbos. So those were gone too. Lost on the mountain with my meniscus, my MCL, my hat, and the majority of my pride as I stood there in the dark.

Hozomeen (far background) is a sneaky peak

The trail back to the cars never ended. JT’s knees were bugging him. My body hurt, but nothing seemed worse than anything else, and I had forgotten about my bum knee. Crossing the creek was like an oasis in a desert. It was so dry on that trail, Sam washed his face and I drank a bunch of water (I had been running low) and used what little willpower remained to not lie down and nap in the shallow stream. I mean, it would have felt amazing.

Mind over matter, guys. You kind of space out and just keep moving. That’s the point I was at for the last 30 or so minutes. It wasn’t the worst I’ve been, but it was damn close. As soon as you start to think again, you notice the aches and pains. The skin was sloughing off the bottoms of my feet, my bony ankle was swollen in my boots which had started around noon, it wasn’t gonna be pretty. JT stopped and offered to let me go ahead of him, and I stood there staring into the distance leaning on my poles telepathically saying NO! and I think he got the message. Yeah sure that was 30% because I didn’t want to leave him, but it was also 20% because I was tired, 20% because I get spooked easily in the dark alone, 15% because I knew if I was hiking alone in the dark I’d convince myself I was going in circles in Twilight Zone fashion, and 15% because as soon as I thought of the Twilight Zone circles I creeped myself out. Woods are scary.

Sam coming up to the Notch with Snowfield in the back

We could hear cars, and see the lights from the dam, and yet we never seemed to reach the end of the trail. It’s two freaking miles from the lake. TWO MILES. And the end just never seemed to get closer. We finally saw the sign near the beginning of the trail, and five minutes later, were at the cars. Sam delivered me gatorade. I downed half of the bottle immediately. I grabbed my bivvy and sleeping bag and dumped my gear in the car. I was in the bivvy within minutes. I got a Mountain House meal to cook on Sam’s stove and instead fell asleep curled up to it and the gatorade in my sleeping bag. I woke up periodically to the wind blowing, and deliriously got scared various things would blow away. I woke up at 5am in a bag full of flip flops, socks, mountaineering boots (the wind wasn’t that strong), my mountain house meal, gatorade, my car keys, my cell phone, a plethora of snacks, and some rocks. I imagine I had plans for all of those before I was unconscious.

So tiny

Looking up at Snowfield, you can see our tracks center

Around 5am I wiggled out of my sleeping bag and stood up. Shit. My left knee was so fucked. I couldn’t bend it, it was swollen, and I could barely walk. It was 5am on a Sunday. I started driving, and could barely use the clutch. So I’d hang out in 5th gear, hoping no one slowed down when the speed limit dropped to 30, rolling through most stop signs, and generally being a terrible driver. I frantically texted coworkers. How does our insurance work? Who’s your primary? Do we need a referral to an orthopedic surgeon or can I just go? Who’s your orthopedic surgeon?! I have awesome coworkers who all responded, despite it being 7:30am on a Sunday.

Day packs are amazing

I got home and mourned the loss of one of my most important joints. There goes my summer. I hobbled to dinner with my friend, incapable of stepping off curbs or going down stairs. I mean, it was mostly fine after the skiing wipeout. I must have just pissed it off with that brutal bushwack right? We did lose like 5500ft of elevation in just over 2 miles. That’s already a knee banger when you aren’t bushwacking off route. But of course as soon as you mention skiing, everyone thinks you tore your ACL. The pain wasn’t right for ACL, so I figured I had torn my MCL or meniscus, but I was freaked out. Last time I went to a doctor I thought I had a cold and I had pneumonia and a partially collapsed lung, so I decided to avoid fucking it up further and actually went to see a doctor. the logical side of me flipped between either extreme. “It’s nothing, you’re just being paranoid, you’ve never been injured or had your lifestyle at stake so you’re freaking out” vs “IT’S BEEN A WHOLE DAMN WEEK AND YOU CAN’T STRAIGHTEN YOUR LEG YOUR LIFE IS DEFINITELY OVER LET’S STRESS EAT EVERYTHING IN THE OFFICE” (probably to my coworkers’ dismay).

I was going to explain it in words but this top notch MS Paint job is easier

We’ll skip the dramatic week of waiting for MRI results. The doc thought torn meniscus and MCL sprain. Best case was a few weeks of PT, worst case was surgery. And the answer was… just sprains! A bunch of obvious fluid and swelling, but everything was intact. Sprains are kind of bullshit, it’s like saying “well there’s swelling and this thing is unhappy but nothing technically needs repairing so.. good luck!” But it’s been getting progressively better almost every day, so I think I’ll be back soon. But for a few days there, I thought I was out for the season.

Watching the peaks around us get smaller and smaller

This trip was a perfect reminder that you can always be better. You can always be faster and stronger and there will always be people out there who can kick your ass without trying. Which is a feeling I love to have. I like being the newbie, the little kid, the weak link. Because it means I’m with ridiculously awesome people.

It was also a reminder that we’re not immortal. I didn’t realize just how many people I know who have had surgeries or long recoveries from mountain related injuries, be it a rock climbing accident, skiing, or just tripping on a strenuous hike or trail run. Nearly ever person I look up to in the Washington hiking and climbing community seems to have dealt with injuries and recoveries, Appreciate what you have, every day. We’re so lucky to be able to do things like this. And if you don’t have it, you aren’t alone.* This was just the beginning of the end for me. I have another 20 years to destroy my knees, and by then we’ll be damn good at knee surgery.

*And I’ll come hang out with you at Picture Lake. ADA accessible, killer view of Shuksan, hell yeah!

ADA accessible via helicopter

Ixtaccihuatl and Orizaba

Posted on December 1, 2015 by evejakubowski

Popocatepetl over Ixta’s ridges

A week full of sunshine, limericks, guacamole, and a little bit of climbing. What more can you ask for? Well for starters, the guac-to-chip ratio in Mexico seems to be much lower than it is in my kitchen. And the sunshine was a pleasant surprise. Even Mountain Forecast, the notoriously optimistic mountain weather predictor, was calling for snow up high every. Single. Day. Psych! We had perfect weather windows for both climbs. Man, I almost don’t want to write this entry, because once I’m done with it, the trip will officially be over.

Well let’s start with getting to Mexico. I’m not a traveler. I have left the country once in the past eight years, and it was with family, so I mostly ignored everything that was going on. I woke up on the plane to some vague Spanish forms sitting in my lap. Okay, these must be for customs. Got those filled out. Passed out all of my extra pens to needy travelers in the customs line (I was politely reprimanded by my boss for not having a pen at a meeting, and now there are like 15+ in my purse at any given moment in time) like a Customs Hero, and picked up my absurdly large canvas duffle bag that my boss lent me before running into Angie (yay!), Erin, and Kali, who had all planned to meet at the airport. We swapped dollars for pesos, hopped into a cab, and headed to the hotel.

How weather was much of the time (featuring Angie’s Bottom)

The first night was quiet. Everyone was just getting to know each other. Erin was from Seattle, Dave was from Evanston (where I went to college), so there were a few connections. A few climbers already knew the guides, Dallas and Austin. Dallas knew our guide from our ridiculously fun trip up Shuksan well and had some funny stories about the two of them. Everyone was talking about their experiences: Denali, China, Aconcagua, treks well above 13,000ft, Ecuador volcanoes. And what did I have? I, uhhh, well, I climbed Rainier a few times, and some smaller peaks in the Cascades? And one time I ran 10 miles at 10,000ft in Colorado while looking at mountains, does that count? I passed out that time though, so maybe not. What does diamox feel like? When should I take it? Does 20 degrees feel colder at 17,000ft than it does at 14,000ft? Maybe I should have asked Angie’s dad if I could borrow puffy pants in addition to his soft shell pants. I glanced down, concerned at the number of chips left without guac on my plate. The other end of the table doesn’t like guac, maybe I can get theirs. They don’t know I’m a human garbage disposal yet.

We headed up for a light day hike at the base of Ixta the next day. Light packs, short mellow terrain. It’s crazy that there are trees and roads up to 13,000ft in Mexico. To reach that in Washington, you’re either on a glacier or a plane. I put Angie’s fancy Suunto in my bag, because I realized I didn’t notice the altitude until someone else pointed it out. Maybe if I just didn’t know what we were at, I’d never notice.

Nassella Tenuissima (mountain grass!)

The hike was pleasant. A jeep engine overheated (not our group, just a Mexican family who kept honking the horn as if that’d fix it – turn the heat on full blast, that helps at least a little), a few runners were getting in some high altitude training, and the grasses were amazing. I asked what the grass was called, and got “mountain grass?” in response. Of course immediately after I post pictures on Facebook, my horticulturalist mother jumps in – “Nassella Tenuissima!! I just planted this in breezy!” Well, I’ll have a little taste of Ixtaccihuatl in Queens, NY next summer. Sweet.

We went back down to the town of Amecameca (~8000ft) to sleep low, climb high. We almost got nailed by cars crossing the street to get to dinner, but made it. Dramatic 20ft run. I ordered paella, which I knew had shrimp in it, but i wasn’t expecting it to also be stuffed with seashells with a whole fucking crab on top. For those who don’t know me, even the smell of seafood is enough to send me running to the nearest vomit receptacle (bathroom doesn’t convey the urgency involved). It was a brutal dinner. Luckily we had ordered an outrageous amount of appetizers, so I was pretty full anyway.

The next morning, we carried gear to high camp. I’m a chatty hiker, and frequently need to find ways to entertain myself. Like a 5 year old. But as a wise man once said (okay, dad) “only boring people get bored.” So I started writing limericks, and got Angie to try her hand at it too. The first one was about Angie getting sunburned. Spoiler alert: It was me who ended up sunburned.

Poor Angie is already burned
You’d think that by now she’d have learned
She’s whiter than flour
And fries in an hour
And soon the outdoors she’ll have spurned.

The hut on Ixta

Those last lines are damn hard, every time. Soon enough I got Barb talking about lizards (she’s done all sorts of cool research in Baja) and that kept me occupied for a bit, and then Kali told us about some of her military training. I soon realized I would need a belt for the pants I had borrowed from Angie’s dad, and spent the rest of the hike mentally sorting through the few belongings I had brought to Mexico. Eventually I settled on a prussik and a runner, neither of which would be necessary on the climbs. I girth hitched them together to fit around my waist. I’ll refrain from making a fat joke.

We spent that night in a hut around 13,000ft. Dinner was quesadillas, more guac (enough guac this time), tortillas, man I don’t even remember at this point but it’s 7am and I’d freaking love that meal all over again. Popocatepetl poked out from the clouds a few times, and Kali pointed out a few constellations and navigational stars, which was pretty neat. We’ll see if I remember them. I think I’ll be relying on an app (I’m sure there’s an app for that) like the pleb that I am.

The next day was back up to high camp, where we relaxed for the afternoon and went to bed early. I suck at sitting around without something to distract me (a book, netflix, music, you get the idea), so I wrote another limerick as I demolished an entire 12oz box of Wheat Thins. Appetite: 1, altitude: 0.

No one is hungry up high

No cravings when you touch the sky

Just headaches and pee

Unless you are me

And could devour a whole goddamn pie.

High camp on Ixta

Apple pie sounded amazing right then and there. But alas, no pie. Angie wrote a few hilarious haikus (you can read her full poetry collection on her blog here) which were ten times as funny because she made herself laugh so hard she couldn’t even recite them, she had to write them down and have me read them. Here’s a great example when I suggested we write limericks about “I dunno, rocks, we’re surrounded by rocks?”

Writing about rocks is hard
When you don’t give a damn about rocks
Shit that doesn’t rhyme
I guess I just need some time
To have an opinion on rocks.

Once she decided to nap, I just dozed in the sun and listened to some trance until it was time for dinner and an early bedtime.

Halfway through the night I realized my face was sunburned. It was burning against my warm zero degree sleeping bag. God dammit. I didn’t sleep much. You could hear Popo grumbling in the distance, which was oddly unsettling and fascinating both at once. I had taken a half dose of diamox for the first time and was dealing with all the tingliness that comes along with it. Luckily it didn’t make me have to pee constantly, which is apparently the other main side effect.

Popocatepetl from high camp on Ixta

We got up around midnight, had a quick breakfast, and started off. Kali suggested playing “the country game” which goes like this: name every country that starts with A, then every country that starts with B, etc. I was fifth, and it was my turn. “Albania!” Already said. Hmm, Australia! That was said too. Armenia? Yup. AZERBAIJAN! No one knows that one, I thought proudly. Except everyone laughed, because Angie had just said it. Fine, uhh, Argentina. Fuckers. The morning was off to a great start. I suck at geography. We gave up at C.

Ixta is mostly a kitty litter filled scramble full of ups and downs and it would be pretty miserable if it didn’t have so many ridges to walk. There was snow for maybe a quarter mile if that, and the rest was just rock. Apparently the glacier used to be a large, crevassed beast, but what’s left of it is small and mellow. It was still damn cold, and Fozzy’s hot gatorade (it’s better than it sounds) was an awesome treat at every break. Much nicer to drink than ice cold water. I have a hard time drinking fluids, so I had made all my water bottle into raspberry lemonade hoping it’d make hydrating more fun. Should have made them all hot gatorade.

There’s a false summit, too, so don’t get your hopes up. Fozzy had warned us, so I was ready. He probably only mentioned it because I’m like a little kid in a car. Except instead of “are we there yet?” it’s “is that the summit?” I was trying to figure out how the body parts of Ixta worked and couldn’t just ask “where are the boobies?!” We weren’t on that level yet.

Ixta summit selfie!

We actually beat sunrise to the top, so Angie and I took a great summit selfie in the dark. We were at the top I swear. Angie hilariously couldn’t get her goretex pants to fit over harness, and laughing kept me almost warm in the pre dawn morning at 17,000ft.

Dallas and Austin’s rope teams coming down the ridge

The way back took longer than expected. We flew down the first section and paused to wait while I snapped more pictures of sunrise and the rest of our team coming down the ridge. Orizaba poked out in the distance. That’s where we were headed next! Clouds rolled in as we descended. Back to high camp to pack everything up and then to the vans down below, where beer, fresh sandwiches (mayo, avocado, cheese, turkey… oh man, amazing), and coke with real sugar(!) waited for us. Yeah, I ate the extra sandwiches.

Sunrise on the way down from the summit

We shipped our gear off to Tlachichuca, the town we were staying at below Orizaba, and hopped into the vans with our casual wear. “It’ll take 2 hours to get to town” we were told. And by 2 hours, they meant 3 and a half hours down bumpy dirt roads, so don’t expect to sleep in the car. Austin sniffed his clothes and announced that he “had a certain stench about him,” so I took the liberty of writing a limerick. Anything to stay entertained on that damn dirt road.

Our guide smells like sweat and B.O.

We wonder “oh when will it go?!”

But we can’t give him shit

Cause we have to admit

Do we smell like roses? Hell no!

Two climbers along one of the few icy sections

We spent the night in Puebla, which is a major city, not a small town like I expected. We checked out a few cathedrals, and got an amazing dinner followed by desserts on the house. Desserts were delicious, and so eloquently described by Erin – “sugary and the crust is just delicious!” Okay Erin, that’s about what we expect from a cookie, care to elaborate? You have such a way with words. The restaurant was also where we suffered the only injury of our entire trip: Barb tripped over a flower pot and got a sweet bruise. Orizaba and Ixta dealt no damage, but man those damn flowers were a hazard.

The hut on Orizaba

The next day we went up to the hut around 14,000ft on Orizaba. This was one of the coolest parts of the climb. I’ve never climbed outside the Cascades. The hut on Orizaba had so many climbers from so many different countries! Spanish, English, Italian, and German were all being spoken, and probably a few others that I’m forgetting. It had been foggy all day, and we only got a glimpse of the peak for 15 minutes but everyone ran outside to look at it and was chattering in whatever language came to mind first (English because I’m a true gringo).

Rainbow! Yeah baby!

There was even a rainbow! I had gone outside to use the bathroom and nearly fell over when I realized there was a rainbow and whipped around to go tell everyone. The Armenian team (I think) laughed at me but let’s be real they were just as excited about it. But besides those few brief moments, we were socked in by clouds.

Given the weather, we expected to leave camp in full goretex for the climb. Ugh. Just wait until I’m out the door. Even if it’s five minutes after we leave, just let me leave the hut in dry weather. I scurried up to my top shelf bunk (like the fine liquor right), popped another half diamox (please don’t have to pee please don’t make me have to pee) crawled into my sleeping bag and watched Fozzy, Dallas, and Austin cook. Angie and I narrated it like it was Iron Chef. That was hands down the best dinner we had the entire trip, in my opinion. Better than the place in Puebla, better than the steak restaurant we went to the last night. Orizaba Hut Kitchen was the best.

Fozzy’s team (I think) with Orizaba’s shadow

After dinner I drifted in and out of sleep listening to a few other guides and teams chat. We woke up around midnight again, to clear, starry skies! Yes! And it wasn’t even that cold! Fuck yes! I had brought overboots for my Nepal Evos because I couldn’t track down plastics quickly enough (or cheaply enough) and I was hoping to not have to use them. What I didn’t say is that my crampons were so damn old and rusty that they’re almost impossible to adjust, and that’s the real reason I didn’t want to deal with overboots. I tossed them in my pack and hoped for the best.

I actually felt pretty crappy starting out. Dehydration, probably, knowing me. Just sluggish and unmotivated. I was a little psyched out for the climb since I had only heard how tired/dehydrated/destroyed I’d be on the way down, and how long/tedious/cold the glacier was. I mean seriously guys, the bar was on the ground at that point. My expectations could not have been lower. During the first break Steve asked why no limericks, and I recited the most recent one about Austin being smelly to a few chuckles. It actually made me feel way better. Everything is a mental game, I guess.

Team above us on the way down, just before middle man tripped

Aaaaaand my feet were fine. As I was warned before the trip, they were uncomfortably cold, but they were fine. The rest of me was uncomfortably cold too, because we never really got moving fast enough for me to completely warm up, and breaks were miserably long and cold. And once we hit the glacier, the rope teams got a bit separated and I didn’t have Fozzy to pamper me with hot gatorade. I reverted back to my old distraction – taking photos. I suck at photography, but it kills time. So I have 50 pictures of the other two teams below with the mountain shadow in the background, and a team climbing above us. The team above us had one picture come out great, but what you don’t know is that the middle person is about to trip. He saw me taking pictures. He knows I documented it.

We took a long break just below the summit. Kali and I were bitching about being cold. “Put on your goretex pants!” Austin suggested. “Or just go faster…” Kali muttered, to which I perked up and added “or shorter breaks!” A few second later we saw something black tumbling down the glacier from one of our other rope teams. “That looks important…” Austin said. He was right. RIP Dave’s Camera. ~~Hope we didn’t lose any awesome photos of me. I mean,~~ hope you didn’t lose any great photos. Hopefully we took enough to make up for it!

After we got started again, I was laughing at how many switchbacks we had made and heard Kali exclaim behind me “What are we taking, the scenic route?!” and I burst out laughing and from there on out we were Team Scenic Route.

Team Scenic Route on top!

We finally made it to the ridge along the summit, and holy. Shit. That crater is awesome. I was expecting a Rainier type crater, but this was way more dramatic. Deep enough you couldn’t see the bottom, and surrounded by jagged, icy alpine edges. Totally neat. We spent almost an hour up there, I think. Pictures, snacks, frozen goldfish, frozen maple butter, crystal light (it is more fun than water). Apparently it was a surprisingly warm day for Orizaba, and thank god it was. No complaints here.

The awesome crater. Yeah yeah I know I need to fix the sun

Austin with Kali about to do a handstand on the edge of the world

We went back down the glacier at a moderate pace with Kali leading the charge, and that was the only time I was warm that whole day. We got to the bottom and waited another half hour (at least, that’s how it felt) for everyone to regroup and have some snacks and water. By the time we were moving, I was cold again. Man. The rest of the way back down the rock (and through the labyrinth, which I still have no idea how anyone knows where they’re going) the clouds were closing in, and we heard a bit of thunder. By the time we were nearing the hut, it was completely foggy again. We had gotten the perfect weather window for climbing.

Small section of the labyrinth

Back at the hut we packed everything up and loaded into vans to head back to the Reyes compound for the night. Their food is SO good. I mean I stand by my earlier statement (Orizaba Hut Kitchen was best kitchen), but the Reyes’s have some awesome food. And background music. We made a fire thanks to Austin’s boy scout skills, and sat around it figuring out what the hell to write in the guest book. We wanted a limerick, but I had to sleep on that one.

Bedtime was glorious. I slept so freaking well that night. The next morning we had a quick breakfast and piled back into the vans to return to Mexico City. I scrawled a limerick (okay, I made Angie write it because my handwriting is so bad) in the guest book. Barb had written a beautiful description about everyone’s efforts, the amazing weather windows we had on each peak, and the generosity of the Reyes family for hosting us in such a lovely place. And I followed that up with this:

Glaciers will stubbornly test

Whether you can get by with no rest

Put showers on hold

Just deal with the cold

And shitting in bags is the best!

Perfect contrast.

The way back to Mexico City was uneventful besides 1) the coffee place was out of the oreo mocha milkshake which was a bummer, so we got ice cream next door at 10am and 2) we thought the car’s air conditioning was broken until we were like 15 minutes from the hotel in Mexico City. We finally all joked about baking in the car and the driver was like “why didn’t you say anything?!” I just assumed the AC was broken! Jeez, it had gotten to the point where I got excited every time the car had to curve slightly right because it meant air from the front windows (back windows didn’t open) would reach the back row and blow in my face.

Orizaba summit selfie!

We got there in the early afternoon, and us ladies went out to explore a nearby plaza. Instead we ended up with tacos, margaritas, and mojitos at a bar. And it was great. Round 2? Why the hell not? It was warm, sunny, and finally felt like a vacation! I have no idea what the guys did, but there’s no way they had as much fun as we did. We had a quick siesta back at the hotel before meeting up with everyone for dinner.

The lovely bathroom accomodations on Orizaba (photo credit Steve)

That night was full of wine, steak, tequila (“…We… we need more!” was the immediate response to the waiter when he brought the first few glasses of tequila over) and general hilarity. At this point, everyone knew each other much better than the first night, and with a few drinks to fuel the fire, I think I almost cried laughing at several points. On the way back to the hotel we stopped off so everyone could get nice mescal with Fozzy’s advice, and back at the hotel… we decided to go to a bar instead. One last hurrah.

Sunday morning was a gloomy, sad-to-be-leaving affair. Angie and I ran into Dallas and Austin at breakfast, and later saw Barb with her friend Georgie as well. I was busy being mopey. The flights back were lame. Everything was lame. I got a crappy bag of cheesy chips that were overall disappointing. The security agent in the Mexico airport didn’t believe I didn’t have a laptop or tablet. I forgot to buy cheez its for my flight. I had a layover in Atlanta. The Entourage Movie was underwhelming. I had to pay to watch Amy, so I didn’t watch it. But I did get to watch Fast & Furious 5, 6, and 7 all in a row, which was nice I guess. And I got a huge beautiful SUV cab back to my apartment for the same cost as a regular cab because there were no regular cabs. Small miracles.

Oh, and then upon my return I threw everything into the wash, including my ipod. RIP tiny nano, you have served me well. Mexico was a great last hurrah.

Group summit photo on Orizaba! Stolen from IMG’s blog, no idea who took it since it isn’t in our shared folder 😦

Seriously, awesome trip. Great people, great location, unbelievably well organized. That Orizaba Hut Kitchen meal will never be repeated but it’ll be in my top 5 meals for a while (with Ruth’s Chris in Seattle once, the big mac I had the other night, this restaurant I can’t remember in Barcelona that was near our apartment, and New Park Pizza after Hurricane Sandy). Everyone in our group was easygoing with a great sense of humor, and I couldn’t have asked for better company. Team Scenic Route, it’ll be a dream if I get to climb with you guys again! Congrats on two spectacular summits and a fantastic trip.

Mt. Shuksan (via Fisher Chimneys)

Posted on September 24, 2015 by evejakubowski

Whose beautiful Nemo tent is that

Turns out mountaineering gear is good for many things, like snow, cold weather, and the high winds that accompany sitting in the bed of a pickup truck on the highway. Okay, now between that and the title, you can probably already extrapolate exactly what happened. But assuming you’re here for pretty pictures and entertainment, you might as well read on.

Distance: 24 miles, I think
Elevation: I don’t want to know
Weather: Mountain-forecast is a liar. Fog, fog, snow, and fog, and 30’s to 40’s
Commute from Seattle: well that depends which trailhead you’re starting at. Fisher Chimneys is about 3 hours, Sulphide is about 2:30
Did I Trip: I slow-motion sat once
GPX file: haha, no, because then you’ll see how many tries it took us just to find the damn chimneys

I’m convinced that climbers keep this route description a little convoluted just to maintain the challenge, and keep us plebs out. I’ll see if I can maintain that while giving you a bit more to chew on.

We left Seattle at 6am on Saturday. I’m usually all about trailhead camping and early starts, but this seemed like it’d be a quick route, so why not be a little more casual? We had sunny blue skies pulling up to the trailhead, and Shuksan was snow covered and stunning with fresh snow. I haven’t been so excited for a climb in a long time. Fisher Chimneys had been a route I had wanted to try for months, and here was the chance!

Bonus pic: It totally looks like a bird. Seahawk Serac. (Go Pats!)

We set off on the trail, immediately hiking down into a valley full of fog. And… that would be the last time we saw the sun pretty much for days. With the exception of a few glimpses here and there.

Fall color starting along the Lake Ann trail

The trail to Lake Ann is very well maintained and easy to follow, though there are a few offshoots to other areas as well. We passed plenty of people on their way to and from the lake, everyone hoping we’d get above the fog. Fall color was just barely beginning to show, though we couldn’t see much of our surroundings due to the mist.

We chatted with a hiker who had been up the Fisher Chimneys route before, and I almost didn’t ask but finally caved. I had heard rumors of a composting toilet somewhere on the chimneys route: was it true? He laughed. “No, but it’s a great route for chuckadook.” I giggled. Chuckadook? Is that what it sounds like? “Yep, you find a nice flat rock, drop a dookie, pick it up, and use the rock to fling it as far as you can. Beats a blue bag!” I could have cried laughing. What was even better was the young girl with them (maybe 10) trying not to giggle, and the look of horror on who I can only assume was this man’s mother. We wished them a good hike and as they walked off I heard her go “TWO MINUTES AND THAT’S ALL IT TOOK FOR YOU TO TALK ABOUT POOP” “no no it’s okay they get it they’re climbers, it’s just a normal topic of conversation” and they faded into the distance while I tried to regain composure, still giggling about “chuckadook.”

Foggy Lake Ann from near the bottom of the Chimneys

We didn’t even know we had reached the lake until we were nearly past it, because you couldn’t see it through the fog. I hear it’s beautiful, I’ve seen pictures of Shuksan looming over it, and all we had was a wall of white. We took the boot path to the left, a much more well maintained trail than I thought. It turns out the trail goes all the way to the Lower Curtis Glacier. Which we didn’t realize, until it was too late.

Hint: The standard route departs from the trail several gullies before the Lower Curtis Glacier. We were socked in by fog, and finally decided to take a snack break and check a map to see if we could get our bearings. We heard a huge rumble in the background – what was that?! a plane? Rock fall? Who knows. We definitely need to gain elevation, and might have passed the turnoff/scramble that will lead us to the Chimneys… okay, so we need to backtrack. Whatever, goldfish and kind bars first.

And the skies clear! Upper Curtis and Lower Curtis

And the skies clear! Upper Curtis (where Hell’s Highway is) and Lower Curtis

And suddenly I hear “WHOA! WHOA OH MY GOD OH MY GOD WHOAAAAA!” (double rainbow word for word with an equal level of enthusiasm) and I turn around to see the clouds clearing, and we’re sitting freaking 20 feet away from the Lower Curtis, which has a stark terminus full of jagged seracs all lined up, with hell’s highway and dramatic rocky peaks suspended above it. Hoooly shit. I nearly fell over. This is what it looks like. This is where we are, and we had no idea. That rumbling had been the freakin glacier! There was still a small pool of cloud hanging just over the glacier, but Shukan is a beautiful mountain. Nothing can compare.

Well, now it was certain we had overshot. So we backtracked to where the Fisher Chimneys trail turned off, which is clearly marked by cairns, I’m apparently just blind. This led us up to a stream, which we eventually concluded needed to be crossed, following by some vague scrambling that finally dumped us onto a boot path for a while. Thank goodness, because we were not doing so hot with navigation.

Bottom of Lower Curtis – those seracs!

For the next hour or so, everything went smoothly. We had trail, we had maps, we had cairns. Finally we reached the entrance to the chimneys. “It’s a really obvious gully” we were told. Well to whoever said that: you’re full of shit. We tested several different gullies before finally finding one that didn’t involve class 5 moves along mossy rocks, and we were off.

Guys, I love this shit. Almost as much as I love technical glacier travel. Fisher Chimneys was great because the few fourth class moves you encounter are like solving puzzles. There were several very exposed parts, so I would not attempt this one until you’re pretty comfortable on rock. We did belay Ben up one section, though I think it was all in his head because as soon as John had him on belay, he scaled the wall like it was nothing. Lucky for us, despite the clouds and occasional rain, the rocks were still pretty dry.

John during part of the scramble

We hit snow a few dozen vertical feet below the White Salmon Glacier, and upon cresting the ridge, I started to relax. The chimneys had gotten stressful towards the top since it turns out not everyone enjoys exposed scrambles as much as I do, and I was happy to get to terrain that everyone in the group knew well. We roped up and aimed for winnie’s slide, which we found like 15 minutes later. It’s close.

And we were just in time, because it was dark within 20 minutes. We were originally planning to camp higher, but this would do. We found two tent sites and set up. Clouds stayed where they were, and moments after I pitched my tent, it started to snow. We cooked in the vestibule, and I heated extra water so I could sleep with a warm water bottle.

Home sweet home (Winnie’s Slide on the left)

I spent the whole night freezing. I have no idea why, but I was so cold. Just not feeling it, I guess. I need a warmer sleeping bag, I know that. Mine’s rated to 15 degrees, but the “comfort” rating is 30 degrees. It wasn’t as bad as Shuksan back in August, though, because at least all of my belongings weren’t soaked through with water. Too cold to sleep, I more or less waited for morning. I figured I could nap during the day, since we knew conditions would be lousy and planned to lie low.

Morning came eventually, and I sat up when I heard John and Ben rustling around in their tent. I opened my door, and it was snowing real snowflakes, fat, white, cold snowflakes, like Christmas! I couldn’t help being thrilled, the first snow of the year always fills me with a childish joy, and this was real snow. We crossed our fingers and hoped for it to clear up, and spent the next six or so hours eating, napping, whatever kept us happy.

Crevasses and moderate visibility (not the worst we had all trip…)

Towards early afternoon, we figured this was about as good as it was going to get, and we packed up to move to a higher camp. Winnie’s slide was in better shape than we thought. Reports had said it was entirely exposed ice, but with the recent snow, we could kick steps, and the group before us had left nice tracks. The snow was pretty solid, though conditions wouldn’t stay that good for that long.

And it was a good thing we camped below the slide, because at the top were two tents from the other group! Unoccupied, so we figured they must have gone for the summit. We passed them and got onto hell’s highway along the upper curtis glacier, which was very, very heavily crevassed. Reminiscent of the DC route crevassed. Okay, maybe not that big, but bigger than we had dealt with on Coleman Deming, and bigger than Eldorado, and bigger than the Sulphide. We even had to set up protection across a crevasse with a dicey looking snow bridge that you had to climb down a bit to reach before traversing. John belayed me first with two ice screws as an anchor, I scampered across and set up a deadman’s on the other side due to lack of ice. The snow was basically concrete on the other side. Ben was next, and once he was across, I belayed John. We cleaned up our gear and got started again. We had known there was one tough crevasse to cross, and we figured that had to be it.

I bet it’d be stunning in clear weather

For once we were right, and the rest was clear sailing. Which is great, because it turns out crevasses are a lot harder to navigate when you can only see 15-20 feet in front of you. If we walk parallel to this one, will it end and we’ll be able to just go around it, or will it keep going until it meets a cliff or a bigger crevasse? You just don’t know. Fortunately, we made it to the base of the cliffs above the Upper Curtis, and we knew to hug those until we could hop up to meet the Sulphide, which came up quickly.

The ramp up to the Sulphide was a tough section. Very steep, and by now the snow had softened enough in the warmth that there was plenty of sloughing coming down towards us. We finally saw the other group on their way down. We moved over to the side below a small rocky outcropping to avoid the pinwheels they were triggering as well as any potential larger issues we probably didn’t want to voice. We’d move quickly. As they passed us, we asked how it was, and they seemed exhausted and unhappy. Rough, I assumed. Long day, summitting in those conditions from camp just above Winnie’s Slide.

Once they had passed and were around the corner below us, it was our turn to tackle the slope, and we needed to move fast. I headed straight up the shortest section. Suddenly there was snow tumbling towards me, not a slide, but some big chunks that had sloughed off the slope. I froze. Am I in the line of fire? Yes. Can those knock me off my feet? Yes. Shit. Can I move to the side? No. Okay great, duck. And that’s what I did. I hit the ground. Had I thought faster, I might have been able to get my pack over my head, but I haven’t gotten those reflexes boiled down to instinct yet. I threw my arms over my head after the first few large chunk hit my head (it was like getting hit with a watermelon at 20mph, my neck felt it for days) and stayed like that until I heard John yell 30 seconds later. I wiggled my arms and shoulders free and got the snow off my back and kicked aside the small wall of snow that had built up around my body. Fuck you, snow. And that’s one of the many reasons why we wear helmets. I’m just lucky it was sloughing and not an actual slide. Yikes. “Hint of avalanche.”

Towards the top, it got steep enough I was wishing I had used my ice tool rather than axe, not to mention that beneath the foot of unconsolidated snow was solid ice. But that was just a few feet, so some near-front-pointing with the crampons and good balance did the trick.

No, he isn’t crawling on the ground, it’s just that steep (photo credit to John)

Over the top, we could just barely make out the area where I had seen tents the last time I was on Shuksan. Except this time, there were two nice crevasses running through the flat area. Well, shit. I told Ben and John we’d keep moving until we found a relatively flat, safe area, and set up camp there. So we started heading up the Sulphide.

The fog got thicker. We did a fine job with the crevasses, which were far more prevalent than in mid August. The difference three weeks makes is amazing. The horizon started to blend everything together. Foggy sky was impossible to differentiate from snow, and I can see how people can get disoriented so easily. The crevasses were the only things keeping me in line. I pulled out the map, and it looked like there would be a flat ish spot up to our left. I pow-wowed with John, his GPS said the same thing. That’s what we’d aim for.

We finally got there. We knew where we were on the map, but had no idea how views would be. And we left the trusty blue shovel in the car, so leveling tent platforms was up to axes and crampons. I started scraping out a spot for myself, trampling it with my crampons like a dog walking in circles before it lies down. My tent is pretty small and all things considered we had found a pretty level spot, so it wasn’t a problem. I set up my tent, deadmanned the shit out of it (seriously, it was so well anchored it took me like half an hour to dig it all up the next morning) so if conditions deteriorated further, it was going to take some serious winds to toss me around. Yeah yeah yeah, I know it’s a true mountaineering tent. I’m scared of wind, if you can’t tell. Snow, whatever, rain, meh, fog, meh, wind…. as soon as it’s dark and windy, I’m gonna be on edge.

We heard voices above us, but couldn’t see anyone. I went to go pee. Guys, if I’m not back in ten minutes, come looking for me. Terrible way to go out. But ten feet from the tent, I was out of sight. Sweet. I got back, and got ready to cook. Suddenly I felt sun on my face, and looked up. I think John and Ben saw the look of wonder on my face. “John, turn around.”

The summit pyramid was out, covered in fresh snow, the sky was blue for the first time since Friday morning (and that one glimpse of the glacier) and we could see a group of three descending! I took some sweet pics of them beneath the pyramid, and waited for them to get closer. As they passed our tent, I ran to talk to them (And mostly to ask for permission to get photos of them walking past). Because Baker was out, above the clouds, with the sun shining behind it! Koma freakin Kulshan, in all her glory.

Mountain Madness

The three climbers were two clients led by a Mountain Madness guide. They hadn’t summitted due to the central gully being a bowling alley of rock and ice. The group that had accompanied us up Fisher Chimneys had gotten stuck on the summit for hours, waiting for conditions to improve before descending. Brutal day. I chatted with the second climber, Maureen, who was an upbeat, bright person whose laugh cheered me up immediately. She was thrilled about the pictures, too, and I set myself up to snap a few more as they continued down. I think this resulted in the best picture I’ve taken in my life to date.

After they were out of sight, we made dinner and went to bed. The clouds moved back in maybe 15 minutes after we chatted with them, and we were back to whiteout. We set alarms for 3am, and figured we’d play it by ear. I slept like a baby. Warm, cozy, tired, content.

The best picture I have taken in my life

The alarm went off at 3am, and I almost didn’t even get up. I had… not a bad feeling, but a general reluctance. It was clear, stars were out, but I was uneasy. I didn’t care if we summitted. And I’m an impatient, hotheaded kid, too. I interpreted my lack of drive as a bad feeling. John was feeling the same way. We waited an hour to see if it stayed clear, and it did, but we decided to just not go. Soon enough, we were enclosed in our foggy bubble again.

I showered myself with frosh in the morning, inside and outside the tent

We got up around 8am, and after a BLELGFDKSDGKFK of frost in my face when I sat up into the wall of my tent, I was excited to see a 6 person rope approaching. That HAD to be Miyar Adventures. I knew Anthony and Sandeep were leading a group, and I know how they feel about 6 person rope teams. I sat back and patiently awaited. 1) I was excited to meet Sandeep, who I had talked to but never met, 2) I was happy to see Anthony again, and 3) at this point, it had been decided that not everyone was okay going down Fisher Chimneys given the conditions, and we were going down Sulphide. And that meant, we might need a ride back to town.

Sandeep was in the lead. “Are you with Miyar adventures?!” I shouted. He seemed surprised. “Yes!” “Sandeep!?” “Yes, how did you know?” “I’m Eve!” He laughed and we shook hands. We chatted about the route, I told him what the previous two groups had told us, and then I went to go say hi to Anthony. He saw me coming, and recognized me. Is it the orange jacket? It must be the bright orange jacket. We talked for a bit and finally I explained the situation and asked for a potential ride. The answer was yes. I had a feeling we’d beat them to the trailhead, but if we made it down around the same time (or if we were still trekking along the road when they drove past us), at least we’d have a backup ride. I felt a hundred times better knowing that.

Pretty but not too happy with that windy lenticular

We packed up after the Miyar group carried on, and headed back down. I was excited for this, because it’d be a test of how well I could follow a route I had done once before, but in far lower visibility. We had tracks, but they branched off several times, and you never know when they’d dead end in a crevasse. Besides a few more sloughing slopes that we crossed quickly, it was smooth sailing. We made it off the glacier to the rocks with the tidepools I mentioned last time, and headed for the notch. It was a much easier downclimb than the chimneys would have been, I’ll give you that.

Hobo burrito wrapper note

Back at the trailhead, I snagged the pen from the hiker registry and left a quick note for Anthony on my burrito wrapper, which I tucked beneath the windshield wipers of a car I was 90% sure belonged to someone in his group. Oh, by the way, that burrito had refrozen, and on the second night I slept snuggled up to a cold ass brick of a burrito hoping to thaw it so I could have a delicious breakfast. The note said something along the lines of “we made it down, if you see some sad hikers on the road, that’s probably us!” and I left a P.S. about how much Happy Corn I had eaten. That shit’s delicious.

**If anyone on the Miyar team is reading this, I can’t thank you enough for being willing to give us rides. Even though we didn’t need them, the peace of mind it gave me was much, much appreciated.

Figured I’d capture my “eff this shit” moment

We hiked six miles to the Baker Lake road. Ben noticed I was limping a bit – I have no idea what happened, but some tendon in my knee was not happy with the forest road. I’ll never know. I was dreading it, though. I didn’t think anyone would pick us up. I didn’t think anyone would even pass, and highway 20 was another 22 miles away or something hideous like that. I was resigned to having to tell my coworkers that the reason I didn’t come to work was because I was sleeping on the side of the road like a hobo.

We reached Baker Lake Road, and I dropped my bag and sprawled out on the ground looking as pathetic as possible. Within seconds, a pick up truck pulled up, and after chatting, offered us a ride. Oh my god. It was happening. We’d at least make it to Sedro Wooley. We threw our packs in the bed of the truck and hopped in. Into the bed of the truck. I think I did that once, as a kid. Once.

Like they’ve been doing it their entire lives

Let’s get something straight. I’m a hoity toity east coast city girl from a hoity toity rich bitch Massachusetts town where there’s a list of acceptable colleges to attend and most kids get brand new cars for their sweet 16 (I was not among those) and houses are judged by their manicured lawns and whether their owners rake in seven or eight figures a year or just a measly six. Hitchhiking was something from the 60’s, something that only bums did nowadays, or people who lived in rural bumfuck nowhere. And there I was, with my Weston-ass self plopped in the back of a pickup truck riding down a highway. And I loved it.

We got dropped off in Sedro Wooley, got sandwiches at Subway, and sat on the curb at a gas station with our gear while we ate. So I was three days of wilderness adventure with no shower, eating a foot long (6 inch sandwiches are for wimps) with a 40oz soda because AMERICA. Waiting for someone to offer us a ride. And eventually, along came another pickup truck with a man and a dog, and again we piled into the bed of the truck. I put on my puffy and my hard shell, John even put on his ski goggles. 60mph in a truck, no problem. We’re all geared up.

hoity toity east coast bitch (yours truly)

Hoity toity east coast bitch finally experiencing life (yours truly)

We finally made it back to to the Lake Ann trailhead, and I have never been so relieved in my life. The guy who picked us up was nice as can be, and lived in Acme, a tiny town between highway 20 and the Mt. Baker highway. We transferred gear to my car, thrilled to be back at the car before sunset, and took off towards Seattle.

And there you have it, folks. I hitchhiked. I put my tense, high maintenance city self aside and did it. And I swore to myself I’d pick up the next hitchhikers I see (subtext: if they look like normal people). Because as it turns out, it’s a fairly common thing to do, and normal people do it. The first two guys who picked us up had hitchhiked plenty before, and had no problem giving us a ride. The second one was the age-old-wisdom type who had picked up so many hitchhikers and had tons of stories.

Okay, hitchhiking aside, Fisher Chimneys was possibly my favorite route I’ve done up anything. I can’t wait to do it again on a clear weekend. It’s just so much freaking fun. Such a variety of challenges, and the route finding and low visibility and having to set up protection and belays a few times made it an unbelievably worthwhile experience. Shuksan’s a tease, but I’m helpless. I spent all of day 2 whining “WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME LIKE I LOVE YOU” in my head, because Shuksan just doesn’t want to give it up. That’s okay, I’ll try again. Long term goal? The Price glacier. Get ready, Shuksan. We’re gonna be best buddies.

Eldorado via the East Ridge (Standard Route)

Posted on September 10, 2015 by evejakubowski

Looking back down the glacier at Mt. Forbidden

“What is your favorite peak to climb in the North Cascades and why?” was the question posed, and a wise, well-spoken man answered. “Uhh you mean, ‘what is your favorite mountain to climb, and why is it Eldorado?'” I knew about the knife edge ridge, and I knew the peak had a cool name. At the time, I didn’t really know where it was, or how to get there, or what it would entail, but I knew it involved that damn ridge, and I knew it’d be awesome. And when the opportunity arose (John didn’t mind going back for a second time) in August, we managed to pull together a group of four for a two day trip, and before I knew it, I was about to climb one of the first glaciated peaks I had ever discovered in Washington. Climbed 8/22/2015-8/23/2-15.

Distance: ~7.6 miles round trip
Elevation: 6800ft gain (yeah that’s right), 8876ft highest point
Weather: 50’s and hazy
Commute from Seattle: 2:30, longer if you’re slow on gravel roads like me
Did I Trip: I don’t think I did. Take that, Eldorado.
GPX file here (summitpost, easy find)

Eldorado from camp through haze and wispy clouds

John and Christina drove out Friday afternoon to secure permits, and I picked up Sam and headed out after work. The weekend started off with the usual buttload of traffic, and me taking inventory of everything I could have forgotten in my head. Ice axe? Got it. Crampons? Yep. Sleeping pads? Yes I can see them from here. Boots? Probably, I mean how could you forget boots. Headlamp? Check. Wait, did I forget boots? No, you’re just being paranoid. Oh you have to be kidding me, stop worrying. No? Fine, pull over and check the trunk [I pull over to the shoulder of the highway] just to double check AND WHERE ARE YOUR BOOTS YOU SCHMUCK?! Yeah, that’s right. We turned around and went back to Seattle. Through 6pm traffic. I hated myself. And there were my boots, innocently sitting next to the front door, looking up at me longingly with puppy eyes wondering why I had abandoned them. How could you.

So we arrived at the trailhead after dark and met up with Christina and John. I popped up my Nemo tent and went right to bed after having a beer, because why not. I had bought approach shoes (by which I mean minimalist trail runners) and packed plenty of unnecessary goodies since I expected an easy climb. We were planning on potentially bagging Dorado Needle too, but that didn’t happen. Oh, and my coworker hilariously suggested we try Johannesburg as a day trip the day before Eldorado. Anyway, I didn’t know how much the trail would kick my ass. Learn from my mistakes and research the approach hikes, folks.

Down to business

The trail gets right to it. It felt like a bushwhack. You cross a few logs going across a river (hope you have good balance with a 50lb pack) overgrown with branches, and pop out in thick woods on the other side. The trail is flat for like 500ft, and then it starts climbing. And climbing. With plenty of rocks and roots to hop over. One log was tall enough I thought I could jump onto it, but the weight of my pack pulled me back and luckily Sam was right below me to push me back upright before I fell backwards on my ass off a 30 inch tall log. Yeah, I gotta work on that core strength. And balance.

I have no pics of the boulder field so here’s the pretty meadow above it

After just over an hour in the woods, we came up to the boulder field. The boulder field from hell. We’ll get to that part. For now, it was my turn to carry the rope, appropriately nicknamed The Green Monster: 9mm, 70m, and clocking in at just over 9lbs. Yes, it’s a rock climbing rope. Add that to your 50lb pack and tell me you’re happy. Suddenly I found myself regretting the 20oz of southwestern-style -chicken, three avocados, and full pound of cheddar cheese that I had in my pack. Come on man, you’d have been fine with goldfish and granola and a dehydrated meal like usual, but nooo, your cocky ass brought a fucking feast. Buns and thighs, baby, working on those buns and thighs.

John and Christina on our lunch rock, Johannesburg in the background

And why’s it called the boulder field from hell? I mean it’s not really that bad. Scrambling is fun (if you can call it that), trail finding is fun, seeking out cairns is fun, and these cairns are actually pretty well made and artsy.. but after 30 minutes, where was the glacier? Where was the peak? Everything looked the same. We were making no progress. Johannesburg loomed in the background, which was cool, except the view never changed. And it didn’t feel like we got higher. The boulder field didn’t end. It just. Kept. Going. That’s why it’s from hell. Because you’re lugging 50+lbs of gear, in minimalist trail runners, sweating profusely because you only brought long sleeves and pants, because you’re an idiot.

Coming backwards down the gully

Finally, after an eternity of identical rocks, you hit trail again, and switchback steeply up a hillside into a gradual meadow. Blueberries!! Blueberries everywhere! Game changer. I felt better. I was double-fisting berries left and right. We took a nice long lunch break above the trees, where I tried to eat as much chicken and cheese and avocado as possible, because fuck if I was carrying that shit for the whole trip if we were in for more neverending boulder fields.

Slabby rocks, haze moving in

From the basin where we had lunch, you gain a small gully on climber’s left that then descends steeply to the valley where the glacier begins. Dropping over the ridge we got our first view of the glacier, and damn was it a good feeling. Going up the valley involved a bit more light scrambling along some rolling slabs of rock flattened by the glacier long ago. It’s pretty cool imaging where the glacier used to be (and a bit sad). There’s plenty of running water there, so we filled up. It’s line-of-sight/path-of-least-resistance to the terminus of the glacier on the right (the side that has a snow finger and isn’t completely broken up). There’s a “swiss cheese” rock that we used as a landmark, a black rock full of holes that, if you didn’t guess, looked like swiss cheese. From there, we aimed for the lowest snow finger, put on our boots (my feet have never been happier to put on stiff ass boots), roped up, and got moving.

The crevasse that blocked us

Sam and Christina were both new to glacier travel. It made me realize how desensitized to certain things I’ve become. When I first started, Eeery crevasse was new and awesome (and a little scary), stepping over them and looking at how the ice was falling and the bright blue color was a whole new experience. At this point, stepping over a crevasse is like walking over a crack in the sidewalk. Shrug. We did pass what we thought was a groaning crevasse, which was unsettling and eerie. On the way down we determined that it was running water, but the first time you hear the noise as you take a step, it’s unnerving. We moved across it quickly.

John and Christina hanging out at camp

We did get sidetracked by one huge crevasse spanning a large section of the lower glacier. We had to backtrack completely, where we found a decent snowbridge to cross. The route at this time of year hugged the rocky ridge on the right very, very closely once we were past the first few crevasses. Like within feet of the rocks, with a few stretches on exposed ice (flat, don’t worry). Once you pop out onto the plateau with Eldorado in the background, it’s a straight shot to the ridge if you’re aiming to camp on the rocky shoulder below the summit. Which you should be, because it has the best views, running water, a short climb to the summit, and… wait for it….

“Due to unusually high use and lack of helicopter availability to empty toilet, this receptacle is out of service for the time being.”

A composting toilet!! WOOO!! I thought Christina was making fun of me when she told me there was a toilet, but there it was in all its glory, with a five-star view of the face of Mt. Forbidden, whose west ridge I’ll climb someday. And I will gaze out at Eldorado, and wonder if there is some majestic crapper looking back at me.

Don’t get too excited, because it was out of order. Due to overuse. That’s right. Overuse. Too much poop. Stop shitting, Washington. Take it from Chris Traeger. I walked dejectedly back to my tent. Oh, and the smoke and haze from wildfires dominated the view and you could barely see Forbidden, and you’d have no idea Moraine Lake was down below if you weren’t looking for it. So we had a useless toilet with no view. So really, just blue bags and smoke. Can’t win ’em all, right?

Throne “view”

After a relaxing afternoon at camp, mostly chilling and eating and whining about the views, I went to bed early. My last summit day had been fairly late (~5am wake up on Shuksan) and we were planning on 3am for Eldorado. You guys, I got the best night of sleep I’ve had in like months. Even including the times I’ve slept in a bed like a normal person. I was unconscious, cozy, comfortable, had the whole tent to myself, it was so wonderful.

Mt. Forbidden and Moraine Lake hidden by haze

I woke up feeling refreshed and still cozy, and hopped out to mooch off someone’s stove to make tea and wait for everyone to be ready. My gear is almost always packed the night before, so I can have time to enjoy my tea. And damn, did I enjoy that tea. I could see the entire milky way, a strip of dense stars, which I’ve only seen once before in my entire life (and that was peeing in a field on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere in Eastern Washington, so it was easy to top). And I sipped my tea, lying on a rock, gazing at the stars, listening to Come and Get Your Love playing from Sam’s iphone in the distance. Okay, I might have requested it. He tried to skip over it and I demanded that he put it back on because I had started laughing as soon as I heard the first few measures. Come on, cheesy upbeat music when you’re on a mountain wrapped in puffy layers at 3am looking at the milky way, waiting to start trekking up a glacier? It’s perfect.

Sun beginning to rise

We started off with me in the lead again. We knew there’d be an impassable bergschrund eventually, but I didn’t know when or where, so we hugged the rocks until it was plainly obvious. By which I mean right freaking in front of us. I had missed the ideal turnoff onto the rocks. In my defense I saw it, and asked about it, but we kept moving thinking we couldn’t be that close to the schrund. So unless we wanted to backtrack, we were on to plan B: a six inch thick snow finger, if you can call it that, which ran for five or so feet to the rocks. More like a diving board. I prodded it with the axe. Welp, we’ll go quickly. It’s early, it’s frozen, we’ll just avoid it on the way down. There was one near miss that involved some teeter-tottering, but we made it. And that was how I almost ended my team at 4am climbing Eldorado.

Just a small several foot jump, that’s all

Sunrise!

Once on the rocks, it was an easy class 2 scramble back to rejoin the snow. We weren’t going to scramble all the way up, hell no, we wanted that knife edge ridge. We took a quick snack break back on the glacier to watch the sun rise, and started up to the ridge.

Coming up to the ridge

The ridge is a dream. I was worried it’d be flatter now because of all the use over the summer, and it was, but it was still only just over a foot wide, with more than enough exposure. You slip, your teammate better hop off the other side (no I’m serious, that’s what you do). I savored every second crossing it to the rocks at the end. I’m not sure my whole team felt the same way, but I live for that stuff. You’re on top of the world. Where’s the helicopter swirling around me to take a crazy panorama while I stand there with outstretched arms, and we can throw in some awesome background music? A Go Pro won’t cut it, if I spin around with that I’m guaranteed to fall off the ridge.

Setting up anchors

This side wasn’t steep enough but damn was the background nice

We took a very long break at the top to take pictures and set up some practice ice climbing so John could test out his new ice tools. It wasn’t as steep as it looked, but that meant we could practice pretty safely. We set up an anchor with ice screws at the top so we could belay the entire thing, and took turns getting back up to the ridge from a starting point we chose. I had John lower me (I’m better at that now, I’ve finally figured out what being perpendicular to the rope feels like) before climbing back up. After maybe two hours, John and Christina went to see if you could scramble all the way back (the answer is yes!) and Sam and I roped up to head back down the glacier. We met back up on the rock by the impassable bergschrund, and took the glacier back to camp (easier than rocks).

Time to head down

Another long break at camp followed by the hike out, which I was dreading. That boulder field was going to be miserable and I knew it. At the base of the glacier I didn’t know what would be worst. Back to the minimal trail runners, or stick with the mountaineering boots? Both choices kind of sucked. I went with the trail runners.

Even before hitting the boulder field, I stopped to wonder what was going on. My feet hurt. Were my socks painfully bunched up somehow, or was all of the skin sloughing off of the bottom of my feet? I didn’t want to know the answer, so I didn’t look. Being absorbed in my feet misery I failed to collect blueberries, or even notice them. On the boulder field, it was me vs. my brain. The epic battle inside my head. It wasn’t on par with the last stretch of Paradise at Rainier a few weeks prior, but it was tough. I don’t even know why. It’s not a long climb, or that physically demanding, the boulder field is just damn tedious. Sam hopped along ahead of us, while I lagged behind relying on him to find the route because I wanted to just space out until the boulder field was past. We took a break after hours (maybe, in my head it was hours) and I whipped out the emergency Gu. Yeah, like my running snacks. I keep some caffeinated ones just in case, and it was time. I hadn’t needed one on a single climb this summer until now. I pounded one and Sam and Christina split the other one since I only had two. It kicked in after maybe 20-30 minutes, and I was feeling much better. When we hit the forest I knew it was only a matter of time.

It would have been gorgeous if not for the taunting stream

“This is where your torture begins” John said after a while. I had just noticed I could hear the river! We must be getting close! I asked what he meant. “We can hear the river so we’re close!” He laughed. That’s the torture. You just listen to it and realize how not close you are, and how little progress you’re making. And as usual, he was right. When we finally did reach the river, I chuckled because I knew crossing those logs would be damn hard with how shaky my legs were feeling, and how my feet were protesting any sort of involvement in my life. But we made it across, dropped out packs at the car, I dibsed the trailhead bathroom first (hell yea) followed by Christina, who had looked exhausted but excitedly exited the bathroom and proclaimed “EVERTHING IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD!” We ran to take a dip in the river inspired by two other climbers who had just beaten us back to the trailhead. Painful and relieving at the same time. I hobbled in on my half-skinned feet, half crawling while pathetically trying to avoid sharp rocks, and Sam and John joined. John literally just sat down. Clothes and all. Plopped his ass down in the river. There’s nothing like water after an exhausting day. It was a flashback to taking a dip in the ocean after a long run in Breezy Point. Just dreamy.

One more for good measure

Except the I had to drive three hours home before a real shower and bed. We said bye to John and Christina, and by some miracle, avoided all traffic. flipping through the photos the next morning, I couldn’t believe it. Sometimes you get saturated with views and forget just how amazing it is where you are. And then you look back at pictures, and are just stunned by what you did. That’s how many of my trips are. I don’t remember anything without the pictures. And instead, I can sit here scrolling through my own pics, making myself jealous. Great trip, great people, can’t wait for the next one! I hope no one’s sick of come and get your love yet.

Mt. Shuksan (Sulphide Route)

Posted on August 28, 2015 by evejakubowski

It’s literally just hanging like that, this isn’t distorted. Neat!

For maybe a month before this trip, I had been pestering my parents and Angie with the same question: it was guided, and it was four days long. I had totally the wrong attitude. I wanted a quick trip that would push my physical limits, but here we were looking at four days. To do a route that people I know did in a day, sometimes two. What the hell were we going to do for four days?! Angie reassured me. “It’ll just be super chill, don’t worry, we’ll just be casual, it’s your vacation, we’ll just be hanging out on a glacier!” Okay, okay, I’ll shut up. Grumble.

So what did we do with those four days? Well, on one (spoiler?) we summitted, on another we hiked back to the trailhead, and on the other two… we sat in a tent. Because of the rain, and the 30ft visibility, and the down-synthetic-blend lump that my belongings melded into after day 1. And I didn’t even have it the worst of the three of us. Let’s start from the beginning.

Distance: 15 miles round trip
Elevation: ~6000ft gain (9127 highest point)
Weather: Ha! 40’s and rainy to 50’s and sunny and everything in between
Commute from Seattle: 2:30 without traffic
Did I Trip: Gotta think about this one. Yes. I slipped on the way down. Count it!

Sunrise on Day 3 (yeah yeah spoiler alert too late)

After eating as much as I possibly could in tacos and Thai food (separate meals, not together) on Thursday, we woke up early on Friday to meet our guide at the ranger station in Sedro-Wooley. So it was already a hilarious trip, because that’s a hilarious name for a town. No one else had registered for our trip, so we basically had a private climb. Yay! Less bitching on my end. Angie’s in great shape, has more experience than I do, and naturally we could assume the guide would kick our asses. I was already feeling better. This meant I’d be the newbie. That’s awesome. It means freedom to pose stupid questions, ask “why?” every time the guide does anything.

Our guide turned out to be Jonathan Schrock, who, as we assumed (and later confirmed) had some killer climbs in his pocket. Awesome. We got group gear sorted out, I insisted on my two sleeping pads and two puffy layers, and we drove over to the trailhead and got started. I wore my trail runners for the approach, for once. I forgot what it’s like to not feel like you’re clomping all over the place killing flowers and moss and insect civilizations like mountain godzilla.

There are three people in that photo if you look closely. They’re about 30ft away, not even

Weather deteriorated quickly. I had done an admittedly shitty job of packing my bag, but at least the essentials were protected (puffy, sleeping bag… food… phone… ipod… okay, not essentials) so I wasn’t worried yet. Plus all of the forecasts I had read called for sunny weather Sunday, so what would two days of rain be in return for a summit day? Meh.

Well, by the time we got to the top of the ridge, it was Stephen King “Mist” level fog. Minus the tendrils. For now. Jonathan decided that it might be better to camp low and hope to move higher in the morning. Angie agreed immediately, I was about to whine in my head (the usual) but realizing just how wet and generally soggy I was, I admitted temporary defeat. Okay, let’s set up the tent. Tent conditions: small swamp.

You know what’s great about having a guide? I didn’t expect it, but Jonathan told us to chill inside while he guyed out the tent. Ha, okay! I can do that. I’m really good at that. Sitting. I’m good at other things too, like snacking. Unfortunately, I wasn’t doing so hot at drying off, which is tough when it’s 100% humidity. Resigned to our fates, we hopped in sleeping bags and literally sat and slept for the next 24 hours. And ate. We took a break at one point to move the mid (intended to be the food tent) over Jonathan’s tent, which was letting in more rain than it was keeping out. But we pretty much only left for bathroom breaks. Like bees on cleansing flights in winter.

Spectacular views

Jonathan apologized for the dinner we had the first night (the only meal that didn’t require water for cooking, since we were nowhere near a water source). We were eating in our tent, and as soon as he passed it through the door, my face lit up. Spinach dal! Angie’s family and my family always got Indian food together on Friday nights! IT’S FRIDAY! Tradition continues! Dal is delicious. I was pretty content. Angie’s hilarious, we can entertain ourselves pretty easily.

I tossed a garbage bag over my feet as a last ditch attempt to get some sort of warmth into my toes, which were already stuffed into my mittens. Bedtime. Jonathan radioed the IMG HQ or whoever it is he talks to and mentioned the gross weather, and they asked “how the clients were doing.” The response? “Well, they’re giggling, so… pretty well?” Tent conditions: medium swamp.

I woke up around 5 the next morning and dozed on and off until 8, when my bladder demanded attention. I’m not generally jealous of guys, but really, you can basically roll over and pee out the door. I don’t have that luxury. Maybe with practice. Anyway, I dragged my ass out and was officially awake. I always expect the world beyond the tent to look different the next morning, and I opened it up to the exact same wall of fog that I shut out when I went to sleep the previous night. What do you even do on a morning like that? You can’t sit outside and enjoy the views, so… back into the wet, stuffy tent. Yuck. Tent conditions: medium swamp, going strong.

Angie woke up about when I did, and shortly afterwards, we heard Jonathan from a few feet away. “How’d you sleep? And just how damp and wet are you?” “Not… bad…” we answered. It was true. I mean my sleeping bag was just about soaked through, but besides some uncomfortably cold toes, I was fine. Thanks to my two synthetic puffy layers. And the extra sleeping pad that kept most of me out of the standing water in our tent. Nailed it. “How’s your tent holding up?” we asked.

Hour 18

“Yeah… I’m going to have to run to the trailhead and swap out every piece of gear I brought up.” I think we both burst out laughing. Shit. That sucks. Jonathan’s tent conditions: Extreme Swamp. Okay, we’ll hang tight here, and thanks for giving us the good tent. Jonathan offered to take our trail runners (mine literally had puddles of mud inside of them) back down. I mentioned I had the Nemo Tenshi, a four season two person tent sitting in my trunk. I brought it in case we needed it – IMG supplies group gear like tents, but I don’t know, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have it. It’s a heavy tent, but if conditions stay shitty, and especially if wind picks up, it’d be nice to have since Jonathan’s backup tent was a lightweight backpacking tent. So, I handed over my keys, Jonathan took all of his gear back to the trailhead, swapped it out, and came back up. In the meantime, Angie and I made tea and sat in the tent.

Lower section of glacier before high camp

For hours. Once in a while, we’d hear voices, and I’d step outside to investigate. “What’s the tendril situation?” Angie would ask. Sometimes we saw climbers, sometimes we didn’t. Never any tendrils, so we were safe from Stephen King’s world, at least for the time being. Jonathan got back to the tent and we decided to pack everything up and aim for high camp, which wasn’t actually too far away. Luckily, Jonathan had brought an umbrella to shield himself from rain, which kept me 100% amused all the way to high camp. You follow the trail to the Notch, which turned out to be a dip in the ridgeline. At the notch, you drop down east of the ridge and traverse north until you hit the glacier, which was sitting above a bunch of “tidepools” in slabs of rock. Conditions never cleared up, and I didn’t know we were at camp until we were literally standing on top of it. We did not rope up on the lower section of snow before high camp. Jonathan guyed out the tents (fuck yessss) while we organized our soaked belongings as best we could. My once-fluffy down sleeping bag was about the thickness of a hefty garbage bag and probably just made me colder. Good thing I had mittens for my feet. Tent conditions: Large swamp.

Hell yea, clear morning!

The view from the Ridge Throne

The best part of high camp? A toilet. A human waste composting toilet. Nestled high up on a ridge. From shitting in a bag like a pleb to sitting atop a throne fit for kings. The cherry on top? The throne looked straight at Mt. Baker, which I discovered the following morning as dawn lit up the sky before we left for the summit. So my first real scenery and jaw-dropping view of Baker was from a human composting toilet. Angie had the most hilarious line that day: “I’m going to go to the bathroom. I hope it’s not foggy.” Out of context, it’s perfect.

I sipped my earl grey, watching the sky turn orange beyond the Pickets, and soon enough we got started. And you know what? We moved at the perfect pace. For the first time, I wasn’t wearing one (or both) of my puffy layers while climbing. I was warm, but not sweating. It was amazing. I didn’t know it was possible. Guys, it’s possible, and you should all aim for it.

Pickets on the left, Mt. Terror (I think) center, Blum on the right

Hugging the rocks to the left

The route out of camp swung farther to the left than usual to avoid some open crevasses. Given the weather this year, that wasn’t surprising. So we hugged the rocks before traversing east, zigzagging around a few smaller cracks before reaching the plateau before the summit pyramid. Honestly, this all went fairly quickly, being much more straightforward than Baker and Rainier the weeks before. I just kept drinking in the views. Screw Baker, that’s a slog up snow for far less beauty compared to this. And why deal with the objective hazards and crowds on DC when this is so much more beautiful? Talk about bang-for-your-buck. Actually don’t, because then everyone will want to climb Shuksan.

Plateau towards the summit pyramid

Just below the base of the summit pyramid, we stashed our unnecessary gear, and Jonathan said we’d climb the SE ridge instead of the central gully. The gully is a class 4 scramble, the SE ridge is a low class 5 rock climb. Literally the first step of the “climb” part stumped me. Jonathan edged up a mostly flat section, Angie went up a gully of sorts, and I flopped around on the rope like a fish before realizing Angie’s way was definitely easier than trying to follow a professional rock climber on what was really only my second real rock climb.

Part of the rock climb (not the move that stumped me)

And that’s pretty much how it went. Jonathan glided, Angie scrambled, and I flopped. There was one 5.8 move that he made look easy, Angie had a bit of trouble, and I got up to it and stared and thought “well, shit.” I managed, but it took a minute of clinging to some small downsloping edges with one foot and one hand and one knee (not recommended, now bruised) while my other hand grasped for anything and my other foot poked around looking for edges. Finally found an edge and clambered over the ledge. From there, it was all relatively clear sailing.

Mt. Baker

Anthony and Ben joked on Baker that Shuksan is a cheaper guided climb because it’s basically an advertisement for Baker. It’s true. You look at Baker the whole time, and it looks amazing the whole time. With Rainier, you’re ON the big majestic thing. With the Coleman-Deming route up Baker, you’re on it until you can finally see things like Twin Sisters, and Shuksan, but those don’t appear until you’re near the top. With Shuksan, you’re staring at Baker, Blum, the Pickets, Glacier, Rainier, THE WHOLE TIME. You get to the top (or the ridge) and you have Icy and Ruth and American Border Peak and Canadian Border Peak and it’s just ridiculous. You’re in the middle of the mountains, surrounded by jagged, rocky peaks, and it doesn’t even matter what direction you look. On baker I only wanted to look west. On Rainier I only wanted to look at the crevasses and seracs around me. On Shuksan, I could spin around and around and never get bored (though I might puke).

Looking across the Nooksack Cirque, Icy Peak on the left

Another climber on the way up the gully

No summit register, but there was a quilt! With a piece of paper, upon which I wrote my name, because fuck it I’m petty and like to feel like I marked it somehow. After a lengthy summit break, we alternated between being lowered by Jonathan and downclimbing the central gully. It took me several tries to successfully be pushing off the wall while being lowered instead of (again) flopping against it. Turns out you want your body to be 90 degrees to the rope, which feels like you’re lying down. Which makes sense, now that I think about it. I was trying to sit too much, which just resulted in awkward dangling. Whatever, we’ve established how uncoordinated I am. it’s a work in progress.

Obligatory crevasse pic

We took another break back where we stashed our stuff, and a second mini-break to grab some water running down the rocks just above high camp (melting snow takes FOREVER and uses so much fuel, so avoid it if possible). Clouds were writhing over camp, but they didn’t look too threatening. We got back and immediately emptied our tents and lay everything along the rocks hoping it would dry. The rest of the day was spent relaxing, drying things out (almost), and eventually, watching one of the best sunsets I’ve seen in my life. The clouds around Baker cleared up just enough to let the sun through, and lit up pink and yellow like cotton candy. Eventually there was a cloud just above our ridge, making it look like nighttime over Shuksan and sunset over Baker. We took probably hundreds of panoramas in what Jonathan deemed “panoramextravaganza.” Diagonal panoramas, vertical panoramas, a whole new world of panoramas, which resulted in the best picture of Angie Diana that the world has ever known.

The best pic of Angie Diana

Ridiculous sunset

Sunset means bedtime when I’m on mountains, so that’s exactly what I did. My bag was now only damp and had regained some of its fluff, and I was almost comfortable the entire night. The following morning had equally incredible weather, and we had a pleasant one-push hike out, minus a break to de-layer at out old campsite from day one and make fun of Jonathan’s back-up base layer, which was a long sleeved shirt that (due to some run ins with trees) was now missing an entire sleeve.

It was incredible seeing what views we had been missing the entire time. The approach is a gorgeous hike in itself, and our tent was right in front of a panorama of Baker that we didn’t know existed because of the fog. I had been measuring visibility in trees during those foggy days. One tree visibility was maybe 30ft. Two trees meant I could see the slightly further away tree, so ~50ft. Going back down, hundred-thousand-tree-visibility!

The view from out campsite on day one. Who knew?!

This is a climb I can’t wait to repeat, and I never say that. I hate repeating peaks. Even doing DC again earlier this year I was hesitant, but thank god I did that one. I doubt I’ll go back up Coleman-Deming, but who knows. Shuksan… oh man. I hope I get another chance to go up before the approach is too long in snow. And a chance to try the Fisher Chimneys route, and the north face, which I hear is just lots of steep snow (and a bitch of an approach). Shuksan is just spectacular. I climb for views, and Shuksan delivered on all accounts. If you ignore the first two days spent in a 6’x3′ tent in a wet down sleeping bag with garbage bags and mittens on my feet and water dripping on me every time I touched the walls of the tent.

Summit selfie!

Oh also I took a panorama selfie during panoramextravaganza. I am a woman of many talents. Haven’t decided whether to be proud or ashamed.

Panorama selfie…

Have Tent, Will Travel

Trail running, mountaineering, and the occasional wipeout

Category Archives: Mountaineering